


Happy Little Trees

by Outburst



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bob Ross is the Shit, F/M, PTSD Party House
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5423042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outburst/pseuds/Outburst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone can break. It's okay to ask for little help now and then. Sometimes good things happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "That's where the crows will sit. But we'll have to put an elevator to put them up there because they can't fly, but they don't know that, so they still try." - Bob Ross

"When are you coming back?"

Darcy dropped her eyes to their hands on the table. Jane's touch was light and tinged with the chill of the fall weather blustering against the tall glass windows. Behind her glasses she blinked slowly, squeezing eyes shut hard for a brief moment, and used the concentrated pressure to ground herself to the here and now.

"I've got too much going on here."

The wind blew the greyness away and sun brightened the common area. Darcy smiled and shrugged in the face of Jane's inability to keep her dismay hidden.

"Don't worry so much, Boss Lady. I'm fine."

Jane's frown pulled her whole face down and took hold in lines that looked deeper than the last visit. "Darcy, obviously you're not - "

They didn't roll in with the usual noise and plastic fanfare that usually came with new arrivals. It was just the quiet, unfamiliar movement from bodies her hind brain had no record on file for and the business-like mannerisms from the staff. She zeroed in on the dead silent brunette with the hard eyes who moved like a ghost that was uncomfortable with the indirect attention from his new handlers. Oh yes, he was definitely the newbie. His version of Jane had the same worry and guilt wrapped around him.

The sharp tone behind her name bursting from the actual Jane brought Darcy's attention back.

"Sorry, what were you saying? I spaced out."

Jane's nostrils flared with a silent sigh, and she sat back in her uncomfortable blue plastic chair. "Nothing important, I guess."

Her friend and former boss picked at a split in her nail and kept flicking her eyes to Darcy then away.

"What?" Darcy asked, immediately cringing at the harsh bite in the word. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap."

Jane shook her head. "You don't need to apologize so much, Darcy. Actually, it's…weird."

Darcy snorted. "Not me, you mean?"

"Well, yeah. If you want me to be honest, that's exactly it."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

Jane's grin was tinged with the guilt that was old hat for her now. "That's more like it. Listen, I've got some lectures coming up so I won't be able to visit for a few weeks."

"Guess I'll have to find someone else to entertain me."  She watched Man Jane - they could have been emotional twins, it was creepy - sign the admittance papers for Newbie. Newbie looked on with feigned disinterest; his jaw was clenched hard enough to crack something. Man Jane must have picked up on the mood and abandoned his move to hug Newbie, settling for an awkward pat and squeeze on the shoulder. They exchanged a few words and a nod. That was it. Man Jane left Newbie in the more or less capable hands of the unlucky guy to be on integration duty.

"Darcy!"

"I heard you the first time," Darcy lied with an edge of anger. She swallowed it back down. "Seriously though, I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me while you're gone. That's Dr. Martel's job."

Jane rested her chin in hand and idly began chewing on a nail. "You know I will anyway."

"I should be the one worrying. I don't know how you're still alive without me. Does Thor even know where food comes from?"

Jane pressed her lips together to stave off a grin and failed. Switching the subject to Thor always worked like a charm.

"He's getting pretty good with breakfast food."

"Jane. Poptarts come from a box. They don't count."

"The nutritionist must really be on your ass if you've been convinced Poptarts aren't a food group anymore."

Damn. Well, the woman hadn't earned her doctorate on accident. Or maybe the conversational diversions were becoming too obvious.

Darcy shrugged. "That surprised me too. Think you could smuggle some junk food in next time?"

"Maybe."

"That's a no."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Like hell I'll be the one to derail your progress."

"But I'm dying from the lack of chocolate!" Darcy whined in her best 'I am pathetic and wasting away, woe is me!' performance.

"Nice try, but no." Jane checked the clock on the wall and frowned again. "I have to get going. Still plenty of packing to do."

"I'm sure Thor's muscles aren't a distraction at all," Darcy joked as they stood and exchanged a hug.

Jane hummed and let her smile show. "Maybe, maybe not. I'll see you soon, Darcy."

"I know," she said and pulled out a smile of her own. "You know where to find me."

One day the dark humor wouldn't bother Jane. Today was not that day, but the scientist was getting better at brushing it off.

Darcy could hear Dr. Martel in her head already. _How does that make you feel?_

She watched Jane push open the heavy wooden front door and disappear into the glare of Autumn sun.

_Jealous,_ Darcy thought. _Angry. Pathetic. The usual._

 

Room 306. Last door on the right on the third floor. Four by three meters. Two windows, glass, no bars. Oak dresser, dark stain, six drawers, iron handles. Matching bed frame, queen size mattress, dark blue flannel sheets. One writing desk and night stand, newer than the other pieces, stain one shade too light to fit in seamlessly. Closet big enough for a modest wardrobe or storage. He could easily drop from the windows without a scratch, or sneak out through the halls, bypass the elevator -

Bucky sat on the bed and rubbed his eyes.

_Stop it. You agreed to this. There's nothing to run from._

Something on his wrist vibrated, startling him into standing up and promptly feeling like a fool. The hospital - no, he wasn't in a hospital. What was the phrase Steve had used? Recovery house?

"Just a safe place to heal," Steve  had said; it was so hard to scoff at the true sincerity and Bucky had to fight to not hate him. "Off grid. You can come and go as you please. It's kind of like a halfway house, but it's there for people who need a little help and a place to breathe."

"Did you go?"

"Yes." He hadn't hesitated. There was nothing in Steve's body language that suggested that this so called safe place was anything but. No detectable lies. Something in him untwisted the tiniest bit. So Bucky said yes too.

Here he was, in his new room that was far too nice and comfortable, staring like a clueless wonder at the harmless tech on his wrist telling him there was a group meeting in ten minutes. He ignored it, contemplated scoping out the chow options, or maybe the showers. Not like he had anything to unpack.

As it turned out, the dresser drawers were filled with the basics. Plenty of bland, solid colors and layer options for the changing weather. Steve must have called ahead. Or maybe the free clothes were just a perk.

The watch, as he was going to call it, vibrated again. Five minutes to the group meeting. A bouncing yellow smiley face and a countdown began flashing across the small screen. Bucky sighed.

Great. They'd tagged him with a portable nag machine.

"You're not going to knock it off until I go, are you?"

The smiley face giggled and winked.

Bucky made a beeline for the door. Not much could freak him out, but that came close. Maybe group would help with the talking to inanimate objects thing.

He wasn't the last to arrive despite the countdown on everyone's wrist flashing fifteen seconds. A young woman with hair as dark as his own brushed past him and claimed the seat he had planned on taking. Bucky held in the urge to pull it away before she sat by way of retaliation and clenched his metal hand inside the pocket of his jacket instead.

"Ah!" Bucky immediately located the culprit of the exclamation as the tall blonde woman that looked to be leading the meeting. "You must be our new resident.

The woman smiled. It was warm and honest, a lot like Steve's. She motioned toward one of three open seats. "Please, sit where you like. I'm Dr. Martel. I'll let everyone introduce themselves. That will be a good way to start today, but what should we call you?"

Bucky mentally blocked out the expectant eyes and chose the seat that had the most space between it and the occupied ones on either side.

"Barnes," he said to the air. "Just Barnes works fine."

He found it infinitely preferable to James or Bucky when dealing with people he didn't actually know. Steve was the only one to call him Bucky and it still felt awkward.

"Welcome to your first group meeting, Barnes. We're happy to have you." Dr. Martel took her seat and folded her hands together. "Why don't you start us off, Wanda?"

The long-haired woman to Dr. Martel's right pursed her lips and then sat up in her chair. "My name is Wanda," she said in an accented voice, very Eastern European. "I recently lost my twin brother; living without him, on top of everything else that has happened, is very stressful. I hope to gain some…control and perspective, you could say."

"And how do you feel that's going, Wanda?" Dr. Martel asked.

Wanda shrugged a shoulder. "Not bad. I started reading a book this morning and didn't ask Pietro what one of the words meant."

Dr. Martel nodded with encouragement. "That's good progress."

"What was the word?"

Eyes turned to the dark-haired woman that had taken his chair. She was picking at the already chipped burgundy varnish on her chewed up thumb nail.

"Scuttlebutt," Wanda answered in a dull tone.

The other woman sniggered. "Nice. Did you find out what it means?"

Wanda shrugged again and then shook her head.

"That is an interesting word," Dr. Martel said and looked around. "Does anyone know what a scuttlebutt is?"

No one answered. The other ten people in the room were more interested in the floor or the ceiling, or trying to find a comfortable position on their plastic chairs.

Dr. Martel wasn't one to give up so easily. "What was the context Wanda?"

The other woman sighed loudly. "Does it really matter?"

"It's a water barrel on a ship," Bucky said. "More or less."

The doctor turned her smile on him in thanks. The dark haired woman was more sarcastic in her appreciation of Bucky's contribution.

"Great, can we move on now?"

"Sure," Dr. Martel turned to her. "Why don't you go next, Darcy?"

"Fine." Darcy sat up and crossed her arms. "I'm Darcy. Compared to the witchy wonder here and pretty much everyone else, I was a civilian that got caught up in weird shit and couldn't handle it. SHIELD is nice enough to have a 'you break it, you buy it' policy, so here I am. I've started using humor as a defense mechanism again, which still counts as progress even though Dr. Martel hates it."

The doctor seemed to be used to the woman's mouth and rolled with it. "And what do you hope to accomplish, Darcy?"

Darcy paused. "To be allowed to participate in Taco Tuesdays again," she finally replied and grinned. "Baby steps, right?"

Dr. Martel smiled and nodded. "That's exactly right. Lincoln, what about you? How are you doing today?"

The young man called Lincoln shrugged and grunted out a gravelly "Fine."

Around the circle, many of the others had similar responses. Some seemed more relaxed and open. Bucky watched them all, analytics and questions running through his brain. With the exception of the Darcy girl and the doc, every person in the room felt like a threat. The way they held themselves, twitched at certain cues in the room, or chose their words made the muscles in his shoulders tighten. Anticipation pulled on his nerves. Bucky locked his hands together and willed the flow of information to stop.

"Well, I think that was a great introductory and recap session," Dr. Martel said. "The next group will likely be shuffling in soon, so we'll see each other again tomorrow."

Bodies shifted, stood, and milled about after the dismissal. The soft sound of the doc speaking his name pulled Bucky up short. At least she hadn't tried stopping him with a touch. Come to think of it, given the breed of people she worked with, that was probably deliberate.

"Dr. Martel," he prompted flatly.

"I know you've been here for less than two hours, but I was wondering if you would be up for a session with me later today? I'd like to go over some basic with you, let you set the ground rules for what's okay during group before tomorrow."

The room began filling with more people, enough that he wouldn't get out alive if he had to fight his way out. Bucky sighed and blinked hard. _Stop it. Stop. It._

"Can it wait?" he asked.

Dr. Martel looked him over, her grey eyes picking out cues from his body language. It was grating to be read like a book.

She nodded. "Sure. Perhaps after breakfast tomorrow morning?"

"Works for me." He didn't wait for further chit chat or polite dismissal. Bucky figured she wouldn't mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My birthday is this coming week, so I thought I would give back to the world with something new. Or at least something that's been in progress.
> 
> I started this back at the end of October when Twitch was streaming a marathon of Bob Ross' The Joy of Painting. They're still running episodes every Monday, I believe, and you can find stuff on YouTube as well. The show is ridiculously addicting and inspires warm, safe, fuzzy feelings. I felt like I could use that inspiration and make something out of it. :)
> 
> Now, this is all I have written so far. This will be the first unfinished fic I've posted with the intent of updating with new chapters. I don't anticipate it being very long, but we'll see what happens. I'm not a fan of doing this as I drop in and out of laziness and perfectionism, but as Bob says: there are no such things as mistakes, just happy accidents.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Any time ya learn, ya gain." - Bob Ross

_NEED A LITTLE TIME TO WAKE UP! NEED A LITTLE TIME TO WAKE UP, WAKE UP! NEED A -_

The blaring music from her phone startled Darcy out of her zombie state on the common room couch. The picture of the smiley face rocking out to the alarm she had chosen had been cute at first. After six months of the cheerful little bastard on her wrist, Darcy had listed him above Clippy on her list of "helpful" characters to murder. Ruining a perfectly good song was all on her though.

Taking responsibility. That was supposed to be one of her Things to Work On. To make it a Friends With Benefits situation instead of being its bitch, as she liked to say. No more musical casualties on her watch! Ha!

Darcy flicked the smiley face to shut it up and went back to staring out the windows, past the remnants of the morning rain dripping off the roof, and over the tops of the evergreen trees towards the mountains in the distance. Not too shabby a view. Definitely not something she had access to back home - well, the dozen places she had moved to over the course of her childhood and teen years.

That was one of her Things as well - appreciating big, beautiful things likes forests and mountains. Not so much her childhood. The latter was reserved for sessions with Dr. Martel.

Darcy stood and stretched, briefly going through her full body exercises to get rid of the stiffness, and then fixed her unruly hair in to a messy bun.

"Right then," she sighed and marched to the kitchen. "Eggs and bacon today, I think."

 

Bucky was an expert when it came to staring contests with ceilings. He hadn't met one that he hadn't been able to stare down all night.

This was a new skill - sleep had never been an issue back when…well, a lot of things hadn't been an issue back then. The unease in his gut came back with those thoughts.

But the sun was just starting to create a gray haze in the room, so Bucky counted the match as a win and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

_Now what?_

When he closed his eyes, he could claw back some of that old pure focus. Not much was moving in the old house yet. The weight of the stone and wood began to press down. In a burst of restlessness, Bucky stood and strode to the opposite side of the room. Upon reaching the wall, he turned and strode to the other one.

The pacing went on for a while until the ridiculousness could be stood no longer. Bucky pawed through the dresser until he found a t-shirt and a pair of pants suitable for running. Normal people went for runs in the early morning, right?

The watch said it was just after five when he finished changing. Sounded like a normal enough time to him.

The hallways were dark and quiet, only punctured by the odd early bird making the floorboards creak. Going by the smell of coffee and the soft clink of metal on porcelain, someone was in the kitchen. Bucky stepped with care, not understanding why he had the desire to go unnoticed. Whatever. Nothing for it. The doc could sort that out later. Bucky slipped out the front door with none the wiser.

The air - and everything else - was wet. Soggy grass had his tennis shoes soak through in less than twenty strides, but Bucky had dealt with worse things than cold, wet feet. Running had never been something he considered a hobby so much as a way to catch or escape. Doing it for no reason beyond tiring out his mind and body was a new experience. It wasn't so bad, really. There was a well-worn, damp path that took him around the estate; apparently he wasn't the only one running, even if it was in circles. The smell of tree sap and fertile earth was actually pleasant. The need to control his breathing and form kept his mind busy too. Maybe this actually would turn in to a hobby.

The estate wasn't large enough to force much effort out of Bucky in twenty laps, let alone one. Not a bad warm up though. There had to be something around that he could tire himself out on. At least he would have something to discuss during his first session with the doc.

Thinking about the shrink session got him thinking about breakfast and set his stomach off on a FEED ME tantrum. The damn thing was especially upset since Bucky had only consumed enough food from dinner for two people instead of the usual four. Being the New Guy had people measuring him up enough as it was, no need to compound the issue with trying to fill the black hole that was his gut in front of them. Hopefully no one was awake  yet, or maybe they all woke early and ate already.

The smell of eggs and bacon was wafting through the place when he made it back. The stomach monster began chewing on itself and hijacked his legs. Any worries about people watching him eat took a back seat. Mostly. The soldier would always be around to note things like how many people were in a room (three).

Wanda, the red head of the group, gave him a nod to go along with her blank expression and waved noncommittally towards platters of breakfast food.

He decided that he liked Wanda. She seemed like a straight forward person. Nonverbal communication was always a plus in his book…

"WHO IS TRACKING ALL THIS WATER IN?!"

…As opposed to yelling and such. The voice shrieking in outrage made his skin crawl.

"I thought this place was supposed to be quiet?" he grumbled and started piling eggs on a plate.

Wanda and the other two in the kitchen snorted, prompting Bucky to be wary. That sort of shared look they gave one another was never a good sign. Being out of the loop could be dangerous.

The Darcy woman from the day before stalked in to the kitchen, her dark eyes going from a trail of wet foot prints to Bucky's feet and up his body to meet his unimpressed face.

"YOU."

She sounded like a woman possessed by a demon. Bucky raised a brow at her the finger being pointed at him.

"You know, it's not polite to point. Or is that one of the outdated rules I keep running in to?"

Darcy pressed her lips together until they turned from pink to white, and redirected the pointing to a dark wet spot on the sole of a green and gold striped sock.

"You know what the worst thing in the world is?"

"Genocide?"

"WET SOCKS." Darcy threw her hands in the air. "Were you born in barn or something?!"

"My mother was a great liar, but she never saw a real barn in her life." Bucky bit the end off of a strip of bacon. She had a point, in a loud and roundabout way, but he was aggravated enough to see what buttons there were to push.

Her cheeks were flushing pink with anger. Bucky could practically see her mind counting and going through controlled breathing. Why anyone would blow up over someone as trivial as a wet sock was beyond him.

"Take your stupid wet shoes off before tromping around, would you?" Darcy bit out and exited the kitchen, the slapping of her wet foot echoing after her.

"Yes, ma'am," Bucky said and followed up with a lazy salute.

Wanda rinsed her dishes in the sink. "Try not to take her outbursts personally."

"She has them often?"

"Mmm. But," Wanda paused to place the dishes in the washer. "Please do not track in rain and mud. Darcy has a bark. I have a bite."

Bucky's salute was much more sincere this time.

 

"New guy sure does have some balls on him. Not everyone is swayed by broody good looks," Darcy sneered and crossed her arms.

"Darcy," Dr. Martel prodded in her usual even tone. "Everyone needs time to adjust to being in a new place. Especially when there are twenty other people in said new place that need to share space."

Darcy sunk down further in the leather seat across from the doctor. "It's common knowledge to not leave a mess on the floor," she argued. "And then he lectures _me_ on being polite!"

"I will be sure to go over house rules with Barnes," the doctor assured. "Until then, I'm going to ask that you give him a little slack. Can you do that for me, Darcy?"

Darcy scoffed and glared out the window.

"Darcy." When she didn't answer, Dr. Martel knit her fingers together on top of her desk and leaned forward. "Are you holding on to this anger because you are truly bothered, or because it feels good to be angry?"

Darcy bit at the inside of her lip and then let her head thunk back against the top of the chair. "Ugh! I don't know. The latter?"

"I understand," Dr. Martel said with a nod. "This is a common feeling. However, verbally attacking another person is not the proper way to handle that anger. Did yelling at Barnes make you feel better?"

"Sort of?" Darcy squirmed in the chair. "Not like in a justified way. More in a sick, gleeful way. God, I'm turning in to one of those shitty, narcissistic people that get their rocks off on being horrible to everyone aren't I?"

"Not in the least," the doctor said with a soft smile. "If you were truly narcissistic, then you wouldn't be able to recognize how your actions affect others."

"That's something, I guess."

"Everyone has a strain of narcissism, just like everyone becomes angry sometimes," Dr. Martel said, her thin hands gesticulating in a relaxed manner as she talked. "In our time together, I haven't seen you display any narcissistic tendencies at a worrisome rate."

"Yeah…I guess it was more like when you're sad, and so you make a playlist full of sappy, sad songs to listen to on repeat until you get over it. Feels good to feel and let it out." Darcy worried the inside of her cheek with her teeth. "Okay, I'm not a narcissist. What about the anger?"

"Do you think you've been displaying a lot of anger?"

"…Yeah," Darcy admitted and looked down as she pulled her legs up to sit cross-legged in the chair.

"Are you worried about it?"

She began picking at her nails and then stopped upon realizing how fidgety she was being. Darcy nodded and briefly made eye contact with Dr. Martel. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I can't control it."

"How so?" the doctor pressed.

Darcy locked her hands together, not letting them wander to pick or tug or otherwise move. "It just…comes on really quickly. My mouth has always run ahead of everything else and the anger just latches on to something - usually something stupid - and uses my mouth like a cannon. The situation usually goes downhill from there. I mean, I'm in a house full of people with similar issues that could snuff me out in a second; most aren't the type to let BS go unchecked. I hate that I do it. It's probably going to get me killed sooner rather than later."

Dr. Martel cocked her head to the side. "Do you feel safe here, Darcy?"

She thought about that for a long minute, knowing that the doc wouldn't rush her. "Yes and no."

"Would you tell me why you don't feel safe first, and then go  on to why you do?" the doc asked. "I want to understand how we might resolve that to a full yes."

Darcy nodded. "Like I said, everyone here has similar issues. I can't really do much damage beyond verbally assaulting someone - which is a totally shitty thing to do, I understand that. But could you guarantee that if I lose it that I won't push someone too far? Or that something totally unrelated to me won't do the same?"

Dr. Martel hummed and nodded. "I see the problem. Well, we can work together on managing your anger. As far as the others sharing this house, I can only do my best to uphold my oath to do everything in my power to help them, same as I am helping you."

"As about as good as I can expect, I guess," Darcy said with a shrug. "So, yeah. On the other end of the spectrum, I do realize that if anything did happen in this place that there are plenty of people around that would step in. I just hope it wouldn't spiral out of control."

"Ah," the doc nodded with understanding. "We do have protocols in place to handle such things, such as our buddy system."

Darcy raised a brow. "Buddy system?" 

Dr. Martel smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is starting to come together on the back end. ;D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We don’t really know where this goes - and I’m not sure we really care." - Bob Ross

Before Bucky could knock on the glossy, dark wood of Dr. Martel's office door (wordlessly pointed out by Wanda), it danced away from his knuckles to reveal a startled Darcy on her way out.

"Woah!" The woman back-pedaled a step, her eyes wide.

Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice told him that he should apologize for being in the way, but Bucky didn't feel like following the advice. The two of them ended up staring at one another long enough to invite awkwardness in. He finally stepped aside.

The small muscles in her jaw and eyebrows twitched with the indication that she wanted to say something, but took the opportunity to look past him and go on her way instead.

"Barnes, is that you?"

Bucky brushed the woman from his thoughts and closed the door behind him. If Darcy had something to say, she could damn well find the balls to say it later. Not like there was anywhere to hide in the house - nowhere that he had found yet, at least.

Dr. Martel was straightening up her desk, or more like attempting to. There was an endless sea of papers, islands of coffee mugs and small plates, and flashes of silver-wrapped mints mixed in. She sported a sheepish grin and shrugged.

"My apologies. I can never seem to have a clear working surface for more than a few days."

Bucky's eyes shifted from the mess to the stuffed bookshelves and various things framed against the crème damask wallpaper. He gravitated toward the certificates and photos. His hands naturally gravitated to the inside pockets of his jeans as he hunched forward for a closer look.

"Your first priority is work," he droned and zeroed in on a black and white photo that looked older than he was. Quite a bit older.

"That is a rather clinical way of putting in," the doc remarked with amusement. "I prefer to think that I value helping those under my care in any way that I can…to the detriment of clutter-free spaces."

"Fair enough." Bucky tapped the teak frame of the photo with the back of his nail. "Who is this?"

"Hmm?" Dr. Martel, her arms full of folders and papers, wandered over. Upon seeing the photo in question, a fond smile bloomed on her face. "Ah! Such good days those were…"

She shifted her armload and pointed at the bright-eyed fellow with the weird under chin beard and aquiline nose. "That would be Henry David Thoreau. More or less in his younger days."

Bucky motioned towards the light-haired woman with the warm smile sitting next to the long-dead Thoreau and raised a brow. "Comparatively?"

Dr. Martel grinned, a rather mischievous one at that, and shrugged once more. She went back to trying to tame the mess on the desk.

"As is quite obvious, I am neither hiding nor announcing the nature of my biology," the doctor said. "You, as well as everyone here, are welcome to ask any question you like. I imagine you will one day have a collection a lot like this, Barnes."

He eyed the walls of the office. Certificates of recognition, degrees, and doctorates spanning centuries hung proud and  in no particular order amongst a history of photography. There was even a small portrait drawing of Dr. Martel and her familiar smile, hair pinned up, and a cameo brooch at the base of her high-collared throat.

"I doubt it would be this impressive."

"Why is that?"

Bucky glanced at the woman in her modern black skinny jeans, burnt-orange cardigan, and pale hair pulled back in to a sleek and simple tail. She was setting most of the papers in to a plain banker box and shoving the loose mints in to a drawer. The skeptic in him wondered if she was only pretending to be paying half an ear to him.

"I'm not much for school learning," he said and turned his back to the wall. "So how does this work? I lay back on the fancy couch and you ask me about my childhood?"

Dr. Martel looked up and tilted her head. "This works any way that you want it to work, Barnes. I thought we were doing well so far."

The likelihood that she had been playing at distractedness skyrocketed. The doctor was a clever one. Of course she was, the room was literally filled with proof. The tension in his spine began rising one ratchet at a time.

When he didn't respond, she nodded towards the couch and then to the leather club chair in front of her desk. "You can sit there or there. Or anywhere you think you will be most comfortable. Stand if you want, or keep moving even."

"What if I wanted to sit in your chair?"

"My chair? You mean this one?" she asked and pushed out the office chair by the worn, leather head rest; it squeaked faintly and rocked on springs that needed oil. "Sure. She's a little old, but does the trick, I think."

Bucky's proclivities kept him from wanting to be so close to a new person. In doing so, he had to figuratively eat his words. Both left a restlessness in his stomach.

Dr. Martel either ignored the issue or assumed he preferred to stand and stare at her. She was unperturbed, serene as could be, pleased even…though that might have been more in response to the improving state of the desk.

"That's a shame, by the way," she said and blew dust off the bronze desk lamp with a drawn out exhale.

"What is?" he grumbled, half distracted by the question while the rest of him tried to negotiate where he wanted to be.

"That you think you're not the learning type," Dr. Martel said after recovering from a minor coughing attack.

"Never was." His mind decided to drag the club chair three feet from the desk and try to lounge. "That was Steve's thing.  Wouldn't let me copy off him though, just talked my ear off until things stuck. 

"What is your thing?"

Killing people. Women. Fighting. Those were the things that first came to mind. Yet they weren't right. Those were the of things two very different people, people that didn't exist anymore. The blunt nails of Bucky's hand scratched and dug in to the meaty heel of his hand.

He shook his head. "I don't know anymore."

Dr. Martel beamed at him. "That's quite exciting!"

Bucky blinked. "Pardon?"

"You're working with a blank slate, Barnes," she said and tossed a mint to him.

With barely a thought, his mechanical arm caught it, the hard candy making a muffled ping against the gloved palm. Bucky gave her a dull glare. "If there was a blank slate to work with, I wouldn't have been smuggled here."

Dr. Martel swished her hands, waving the implications away, and then popped a mint in her mouth. "You're free to forget about all that. That's out there, far away. I think that would be a great first Thing for you: work on not giving a hoot about the past or the outside world."

Bucky's mouth pulled down in a deep frown. What was she playing at? "I thought the whole point of this was to get a grip on the past and whatnot?"

"Ah, but here is the great beauty of therapy, Barnes," the doctor said and opened her arms to figuratively encompass the atmosphere. "The point of this whole thing is only what you want to achieve. If you want to focus on the past, we can do that. We can sit here and discuss every nitty gritty detail for however long you need to."

"I hear a 'but' in there."

She shook her head. "No buts, only ands."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "You're real into the all-inclusive stuff, aren't you?"

Dr. Martel only smiled back at him. "I have caused more than my share of frustration, yes. I gladly take full responsibility. That being said, I will never directly tell you what you need or should do, Barnes. I _can_ help guide you towards a direction to explore, but you will need to make all the decisions, easy and hard alike."

He felt like there was a catch he wasn't seeing yet. None of this was jiving with what he thought therapy would be like. Maybe that was a good thing? The whole concept had been unnerving from the beginning. But he didn't have to talk about anything he didn't want to, which was nice. No nagging or concerned looks thrown his way.

"So what if I asked you what your professional opinion of me was? Or if I snuck a peek at your notes?"

"You can ask what you like and I will answer with honesty," Dr. Martel said and swept the remaining debris from her desk in to a metal rubbish bin. "I rarely take down notes, but you are free to read them as you like. However, I will not discuss or share personal information about your house mates with you, nor your information with them, without prior authorization."

"So you won't tell me what the deal is with the Darcy girl?"

The doc grinned. "No. In any case, that is a rather topical question and overlooks the complexity of human emotion and nature. You will have to get to know her in order to find an answer yourself."

"Maybe she's just crazy," Bucky argued for argument's sake. "Maybe we're all crazy."

"You're ignoring complexities again, Barnes," Dr. Martel chided and plopped in to the desk chair, wisps of loosened hair falling in disarray around her face like a wispy halo. "No one is ever simply 'crazy.' That all people seeking therapy are crazy is one of the largest misconceptions surrounding the practice. But! While we are on the topics of do's, don'ts, and Darcy, there are a few important things to discuss."

He unwrapped the mint, feeling the slick, crinkly material against the flesh of his fingers on one hand and a few basic sensory inputs against the metal ones on the other. The mint itself was strong and began clearing his sinuses. Bucky coughed and spit the candy back in to the wrapper.

Dr. Martel chuckled and offered the rubbish bin. "Sorry. I forget that not everyone enjoys potent flavors as much as I do."

"Potent is one word for it." Bucky tossed the candy and rubbed a knuckle over his mouth; his lips were tingling. "You were saying?"

"I realize that you haven't had much time to get to know everyone here, but I was hoping that you might consider enrolling in our buddy system."

He raised a brow at her. "What sort of mental house uses a buddy system?"

"Mental _retreat_ ," the doc corrected in stride. "It's a new program I've been developing."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm about to be a guinea pig?"

The thought of being a lab rat again, even for someone who seemed relatively helpful, gave him a sick feeling. Like walking out in to the mountains as far from the house as he could get would be a better option.

Dr. Martel raised her hands so that her palms faced him in a non-threatening stance. "Only if you want to be. There is absolutely no obligation. You call the shots, remember? At least when it comes to your own wellbeing. And you don't intend to hurt yourself or others. Those are the main house rules."

The notion of letting someone else anywhere near his mind did not sit well. "Buddy system" sounded harmless, but the concept of being a test subject…

"You want Darcy and I to be partners in this buddy system thing?" he guessed.

The doctor nodded. "Despite the shaky beginnings, I believe that you two would complement each other quite well."

Bucky snorted. He was not convinced. There were few loud-mouthed, nagging, head-case broads notched into Bucky Barnes' bed post for a reason. They reminded him too much of his mother, Lucifer burn her soul. Thanks, but no thanks.

"Ooh, that look would earn a note jot if I hadn't stuffed all my paper away," the doc said with a grin. "Perhaps I will remember to encourage you to explore that at another time. I get the feeling we are not quite there yet."

"You got that right," he agreed with a shift of the gaze to the corner of the room. Yeah. Not ready to go there now. He would be happy to never visit that place in his head ever again.

"What was the girl's reaction to this bad joke?" Bucky asked.

" _Darcy_ is a young woman and deserves to be addressed as such," Dr. Marten chided. "I did present the idea, and she has given me permission to let you know that she is considering the partnership."

Now that was interesting. "So she doesn't completely hate me."

The doc's lips twitched. "Why did you think that Darcy hates you?"

He laughed, a dry bark that had a hint of peppermint on it. "Pretty sure the whole mountain heard that yelling."

Dr. Martel smiled. "Complexities, Bucky."

 

Darcy had skipped group and now Smiley was pouting. Smiley's way of pouting was putting extra effort in to being helpful, or annoying as she viewed it. Usually. At the moment he was mildly amusing.

She laid on her bed with arm and wrist lifted above her face. The yellow cartoon was rolling around, making faces. White text appeared on the small screen: _Are you okay? Yes, No, Not sure_

Darcy tapped _Yes_. She was mostly sure that she was okay, and that seemed good enough. It wasn't that she was avoiding Barnes out of shame, guilt, and the urge to physical rub that weird, intense look off his face instead of apologizing…at least that wasn't the whole issue. Sometimes being alone for a while felt better than struggling to keep a civil tongue. Darcy didn't trust herself to keep her cool just yet. Things were bubbling too close to the surface still.

That was one thing she disliked about the retreat house: there wasn't a lot one could do to be alone and keep one's negativity from infecting the others. When one of them had a particularly bad day, the domino effect could take weeks to sort out.

Darcy rubbed at her face and eyes until the bursts of white light were no longer interesting. The blank ceiling was even less interesting. Dinner was probably happening, maybe popping in for a quick bite wouldn't hurt -

The sound of knocking lifted her spirits a little, and Darcy did not hesitate to get up and answer the door. Lincoln stood on the other side with a covered plate and his usual not-quite grin.

"Special delivery: lamb shank and steamed veggies."

"Wrong door. I ordered the pizza and wings."

"Hey now, I put some soul in to this," he pouted. "At least my food is edible."

Darcy took the offered plate and lifted the cover a crack to smell the food. A waft of garlic and spices hit her nose.

"Eh. This will do. Had worse," she decided.

"Could you not mention pizza and wings?" Lincoln said and held his stomach with a wistful look on his face. "Martel acts like even mentioning a stick of butter would summon death. What I wouldn't do for a chocolate chip cookie - a _real_ one."

"Ugh, now you've got me thinking about cookies." Darcy wrinkled her nose and took the cutlery and napkin from him as well. "Away with ye!" 

"You don't want to daydream about junk food with me?" he asked and peered in to her face. "You feeling okay?"

Darcy rolled her eyes. "I'm just fine, Sparky. Been feeling the alone time is all, you dig?"

"Ah, I see." Lincoln nodded. "Sure thing. See you tomorrow then, Lewis."

That was why she liked Lincoln. While he had a wicked temper and anger issues rooted deeper than her own, Lincoln was otherwise a pretty chill guy.

"Thanks for the grub," she said and mustered up a smile.

"No problem." He gave a relaxed wave at Barnes who appeared at the end of the hall from thin air, she was sure. "Hey there, newbie."

Barnes gave a nod and the two passed one another, Lincoln taking up the middle of the hall and Barnes sticking to the far side.

_What a weird guy…_

_…Aaaand I'm staring at him._

Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, yet Darcy felt like he pulled an encyclopedia of personal knowledge out of her. She shuddered and ducked back in to her room. The door thudded shut, followed by a loud clonk of her hard head hitting the wood.

What was it about him that scratched at her so badly? How could someone be so blank, but also have so much pull? She felt like running away every time he was around, or else something unpleasant would happen. He was the avatar of a black hole. Yeah. That was totally it!

No wonder the doc wanted her to play buddy-buddy with him. It really was just a weird science project! Yeah, throw the human mortal at the black hole, see if she comes back this time. Great plan!

A door at the end of the hall opened and closed. Darcy's heart thudded in her chest. No one else had come or gone, she would have heard it.

He was living on her floor, just a few doors away. Great. Grand. Wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the birthday wishes! I hope you guys had a great holiday weekend!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Go out on a limb - that’s where the fruit is." - Bob Ross

The bed was relatively comfortable considering what Bucky was used to sleeping on (or in). Round two of running, post dinner, had proved as fruitful as the morning. The edge of restlessness had been taken off.

He was comfortable, worn out, and had a quiet mind for once. All the ingredients for sleeping were there, ready to be taken advantage of. If only the low, rhythmic humming from down the hall would fucking stop Bucky would be in dreamland battling whatever dreams or nightmares the Sandman felt like throwing at him.

The humming was like having a mosquito buzzing around the head: not loud, exactly, but the sound dug in and latched onto his consciousness. A mosquito would have been preferable; he could kill a bug with little struggle and much satisfaction.

Bucky let out a long sigh. With trepidation and no small amount of drowsy grumpiness, he sat up and threw on a dirty zip-up over his t-shirt before exiting the room. The stubborn lump in the bottom of his gut had nothing to do with the hunch of who the culprit of the buzzing noise was, and all because of that double helping of steamed vegetables from dinner. Or the weird spices that Lincoln kid put on the lamb. Yeah, he was going to go with that.

The buzzing was strongest outside of her door. Of course it was. Bucky sighed, long and loud again, and paid no attention to the fact that he put effort in to steeling himself for their next encounter.

_If she weren't such a brat, this wouldn't be a problem._ Bucky pounded the side of his fist against Darcy's door, hoping their neighbors would mind their own business and this would stay private. _Who knows what direction she'll go this time._

No answer. He pounded again, harder this time. The buzzing lowered considerably. The door opened to reveal Darcy, hair up in a mussed knot, and in a long worn in t-shirt sporting some sort of dog silhouette in black.  The room was dark except for the soft on and off again glow of blue and purple twinkle lights. She pushed the black frames up her nose, a move that accentuated the surprise in her eyes.

"…Can I help you?"

Bucky unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "Could you keep the music down?"

Darcy gave him a look that was a cross between annoyance and disbelief. That or he had somehow grown an extra head.

"What?" Bucky checked over his shoulder; nothing there, of course, and he began to wonder if being around these SHIELD types was rubbing off on her. For her stature, Darcy had that breed of intimidation. Or maybe she really was just crazy.

"I'm trying to figure out if you're giving me shit just to give me shit."

The absurdness of the accusation made him shake his head. "Why would I bother?"

"Because you look like an asshole." Darcy mirrored his shrug and crossed her arms. "And we haven't had the best encounters so far. So what am I supposed to think?"

"Whatever you like." He didn't really care what she thought about him. That had never really been in Bucky's programming, Before or After the war and Hydra.

Darcy leaned against her doorframe, regarding him coolly. "I was hoping it was just Resting Bitch Face."

"Resting what?" That was a new one.

"Resting Bitch Face," she repeated. "It's when someone naturally looks mean even when they're just spacing out and daydreaming about doughnuts or something. Usually the person is actually really nice."

A laugh caught in his throat. All right, so that was a decent jab. A lot of people would probably agree with her assessment. Except no one had ever accused him of being nice.

"So what do they call a person who is always pissed off for no reason?"

"Generally just 'asshole,'" she said with a twitch of the lips. "An oldie, but a goodie."

"I'm pretty partial to the classics."

Darcy pursed her mouth, trying to smother a grin. "Anyway. You know the walls and doors are soundproof, right? Are you really just giving me shit?"

"No." He gestured at one ear. "I can hear the bass vibrating. Having your brain latch on to that in the dead of night makes sleep pretty difficult to catch."

"…That's weird and kind of cool at the same time."

"More like very annoying."

"Yeah, I can see that. Really enhances the bitch face." A real grin made it through for a few seconds. "As much as I'm loathe to sacrifice my bass, I'll mess with the settings on the stereo. That should help."

"Thanks."

Darcy nodded and stepped back in to her room. "Night, Barnes."

_That was relatively painless,_ he thought and retreated back to the darkness and quiet solitude of his room for some much-needed sleep. _Thank god._

 

Four hours after Barnes had left, Darcy had managed to steal a few winks of sleep. The bottom edge of the sun had barely been brushing against the tops of the trees when she woke; a relatively late start for Darcy. She must have forgotten to set the Smiley alarm.

Her REM cycle wasn't complaining, however. There was considerably less haziness than usual, and Darcy had only needed a single cup of coffee in order to get breakfast going. She was currently nursing her second and pushing eggs around a pan. Birds were tweeting and singing outside the giant windows, sunlight was pouring in, and more than a few people that popped in had smiles on their faces. The morning was shaping up to be a good one. Darcy was even humming.

_Our hopes and expectations, black holes and revelations…_

Darcy didn't even need to glance at her wrist to know that Jane was calling. She was pleased to note the thought did not come with a thread of dread attached to it. Switching out coffee for the cell phone vibrating in her back pocket did make her think twice because coffee.

"Yellow! I thought you were at science conventions all week and all the nerding was going to sap your time?" Darcy was amazed at how…normal she felt. The doc was going to be a glowing beacon, no doubt.

"Hey, random question: what's that 'the beacons' reference from Lord of the Rings?" she added in her usual rapid-fire chattering. "I just made an inside joke in my head and mis-remembering the whole thing will drive me nuts."

"The beacons are lit, Gondor calls for aid!"

"And Rohan will answer!" Darcy finished with a victorious brandish of her spatula at Lincoln (who automatically rethought the attempt to snatch a piece of bacon from a pan newly removed from the stovetop).

"Waaait a second," she frowned. "You're a dude. Who is not Thor. Why is a dude who is not Thor using Jane's phone to call me?"

"Seriously?" the dude asked, and the more he talked, the more Darcy recognized the voice. "I just answered a Lord of the Rings trivia question, and you have zero clue who would go through the trouble of crashing a quantum physics convention to steal Dr. Foster's cell phone just to talk to you? I'm hurt, Darcy."

She was quiet for a long five seconds, feeling all the good vibes of the morning being eaten away by pure rage and hate.

"You son of a bitch."

In the far back of her mind the quick and silent escape of her housemates from the kitchen were logged.

"Please don't hang up!" the man begged.

"Why? So you can have more time for whatever program you've infected Jane's phone with to track me down?"

"Of course not! Give me a little credit here. I've known where you are for at least three months now - "

"Goodbye!"

"Nononono! Come on! Please, I just want to talk to you for three seconds!"

"You had twenty-four years for talking!" Darcy hollered.

_"Hey! What are you doing with my phone!"_

"Damn, the jig is up. Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry - "

Darcy laughed, the sound coming out mean and ugly. "Too little, too late. If you're really sorry, you can show it by staying away from me! You're good at that, so stick with it."

She cut the call and then snarled as soon as the ringtone began again. "Smiley, block all incoming calls for the next seven days! I don't care who it is!"

Smiley, his big round face serious, gave her a salute.

The serenity of the kitchen and her good mood was shattered. Darcy managed to turn off the stove with the last shreds of her calm. Damn the eggs, damn the bacon, damn the whole stupidly perfect ambiance of the place, and damn _him_ most of all.

Fury clung to her like a dark shawl as she stalked out of the kitchen, nearly knocking Barnes into the wall in the process.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY."

Guilt was already tickling her spine; things had just been turning around with Barnes and she had no doubt reset the board. Possibly even sent it to the negatives.

Darcy ran shaking hands through her hair and made a beeline for her room. She was spiraling. Hard.

 

Bucky dodged the angry freight train coming at him. He stared at Darcy's tense back, wondering if there would ever be a day where there would be a normal interaction between them. The night before didn't seem to count any more.

His stomach rumbled and redirected his thoughts to food. Breakfast looked half finished, unfortunately.

"…Is she gone?"

It was the Lincoln kid again, peeking his head into the room. Seeing the coast to be clear, he went right to the bacon.

"Any idea what that was about?" Barnes asked and snatched a piece of bacon for himself. "In the interest of self-preservation."

Lincoln grinned. "Funny how we're the wary ones, huh?" The kid shrugged and watched Bucky turn the stove back on. "No idea. Sounded real bad though. I've seen Darcy pissed before, but nothing like that."

The eggs seemed salvageable, thankfully. "Is she going to play the mopey kid card and stay in her room all day again?"

"You're staying in a retreat house full of depressed and anxious people, and that's the description you go for?" Lincoln frowned with disapproval. "No, she'll spend an hour or so downstairs in the gym and tire herself out enough to be chill in group. If she goes to group."

Bucky' mouth hardened. Yeah, that was pretty stupid thing to say. He plated the eggs and passed them to Lincoln.

"Sorry."

Lincoln shrugged. "Forgiven. You're still a newbie, Newbie." He carved out a portion of food for himself and took a seat at the granite-covered island. "Watch it, though. A few people still don't have forgiveness as one of their Things yet."

"Everyone has Things, then?" Bucky asked and joined him.

Lincoln nodded. "Yeah. Varies for everyone; they're just things we need to work on, be mindful of, that kind of stuff," he said and stuffed a forkful into his mouth with a satisfied groan. "God, I love Darcy's breakfast. She's terrible at regular cooking, but damn can she do a mean breakfast. Wait until she makes French toast. She won't tell anyone what she puts in, but they're amazing."

The eggs were pretty good. There was a hint of something he couldn't name, but the flavor took away the usual soft sulfur taste that came out whenever he tried cooking them.

"Is breakfast one of her Things?"

Lincoln shook his head and swallowed his bite. "No, she just does it. Well, that's not entirely true. I think it was silently agreed that the doc would take her off the lunch and dinner rotation if she made breakfast every day. Do you cook?"

Bucky had to think about that. Did he? There were memories. His hands had known which knobs to turn on the stove, how to move the pan and save the eggs from being completely overcooked…

"I think so," he answered.

Lincoln stared for a moment like he was trying to decipher what Bucky meant. If the young man did it long enough they would likely have a problem; he had that probing kind of stare that raked against the skin.

"You should try later," Lincoln suggested and went back to his food. "Sometimes it's nice to have a distraction and come out with stuff you can share with people. Or to have a quiet space to completely screw up and be able to chuck it without comments about what the burning smell is."

Bucky savored his bacon, mulling the suggestion over. "Maybe."

"Suit yourself." Lincoln snatched up another piece and began rinsing his dirty plate. "You gotta find something to do around here. Otherwise you really will go crazy."

Bucky believed him. Being in place of natural beauty and peaceful solitude could only get you so far on their own. He would have to do something with them.

"You mentioned a gym?"

 

Darcy's feet hammered against the rubber track of the treadmill. With the music blasting through her headphones, everything was blessedly blocked out. She could safely work out her anger through pushing her body and letting the music be the heartbeat.

She did this a lot. The doc and her nutritionist had been thrilled. At first. Now Darcy had to dodge uncomfortable questions about what she thought was a healthy balance between body and mind.

But she needed some kind of outlet where it could all pour out. Besides, plenty of people in the world ran a lot. And her time per mile was getting really good.

Her skin was already completely slick with sweat by the time Barnes found his way to the basement gym facilities (better by far than any monthly membership Darcy could have afforded on her own). She cursed the gods of feng shui (or whatever) that had decided putting the punching bags in front of the treadmills was a good idea. As if the relationship between them wasn't tenuous enough, now she had to watch him beat the shit out of a bag.

Darcy cranked up the treadmill speed and pushed herself harder. Breath in, out, in, out. Knees and feet up, down, up down, up -

He really needed a hair tie or something; he kept swiping the loose, damp lock from his face. The urge to find hair clippers and take them to Barnes' head was strong. It was like watching someone wearing a snowsuit walk around the beach in August.

Darcy tried turning up her music, but her heart wasn't screaming along so much as it was writhing in discomposure. Her hand hit the big red STOP button (cracking it a little in the process) and she leapt off the treadmill to avoid crashing at the sudden loss of movement.

 

Apparently choosing to check out what sort of gym the retreat house had to offer (quite impressive, actually) had been a mistake. Or maybe his mistake had been giving the finger to his gut feeling to stay out of Darcy's vicinity. The gym was for everyone to use at their discretion. Fuck her. She could be a grown ass woman and deal with her issues at a reasonable volume.

Or not. Even without the enhanced hearing, Bucky was sure he would have been able to make out her music clearly. It full of intensity and unlike anything he had ever chosen to listen to when winding down. She looked pissed. Of course the flushing, scowl, and heavy breathing could have been caused by the running alone. The woman looked like she was locked in an endurance contest with the machine and winning.

Bucky tried focusing on the bag and warming up muscles he hadn't put to use in a few weeks. Punching people wasn't on the list of ways to lay low. The brawl at that one bar hadn't counted - he'd pulled his punches and everyone had seemed eager for a reason to destroy one another. Some people were just like that.

He was seriously starting to think Darcy was one of those people. Especially considering the annoyance and determination her body language gave off as she came at him. He thought of the angry songbirds swooping in and harassing the hawks during his runs through the estate.

Bucky made to stop the bag from smacking into her, but she stopped it herself with a surprisingly hard smack of her own. She side-stepped around, her determination never flagging.

_"Funny how we're the wary ones, huh?"_

He had murdered countless people effortlessly and endured the worst kind of torture. There were a dozen other people in the house that deserved more consideration when dealing with their instabilities. Yet Lincoln's words were ringing clear and true. The enhanced and otherworldly he could deal with, but Bucky had absolutely no idea what to expect from Darcy Lewis.

"Would you mind bending down a little?"

Bucky blinked. "What?"

A short puff of air escaped her. Darcy made an exasperated motion towards her and then to floor. "Just come here and bend down for a second."

"Well, since you're being so nice about it - "

Darcy scowled. "You want to hear me be a dick about it?" she growled and searched in her hair for something. Bucky had a brief flashback of a woman pulling a hat pin from her hair to stab him and had to touch the bag to ground himself. Best not to curl his fingers if he wanted to avoid destroying Darcy's face on the off chance one of them did something stupid.

She fished out a few hair pins. "Watching you fight your hair more than the bag makes me want to turn you in to a bag. Now unless you have experience with these…"

"Oh."

Well that was completely out of left field. At a loss, Bucky leaned towards her and bent his knees to be on her level, feeling awkward and out of his element. Her fingers felt strange in his hair. Maybe he really should have let Steve drag him to a barber. Then again, the thought of anyone standing behind him with sharp things sounded like a terrible idea.

She was quick about her business, thankfully. Bucky straightened, his face now free of obstruction. Darcy nodded, satisfied with her handy work, and went back to the treadmill to gather her things.

Bucky turned back to the bag. Maybe he should have thanked her? He looked over his shoulder in time to see Darcy's beaten up tennis shoes ascending the stairs.

Maybe later.

"You're welcome by the way," she called down to him. "Bitch Face."

Bucky smirked and struck the bag with a gratifying jab. "Thanks, Asshole."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! :D
> 
> This chapter is brought to you by Muse because I've been listening to them nonstop and getting more and more excited to see them in Vegas this coming weekend.
> 
> The next chapter is shaping up to be a little meatier - we'll see more into what makes the darker parts of Darcy and Bucky tick.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can create beautiful things - but you have to see them in your mind first.” — Bob Ross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has a lot of talking, and some might find it boring, but I think it's still important.

Everyone was on time for group. Darcy tried not to think it was because of her. That was all sorts of fucked up paranoia and a dash of narcissism. Yet the thumb nail on her left hand was chewed down to the nail bed.

"Welcome, everyone," Doc Martel said in her usual calm and cheerful voice. "I'm happy to see all of your faces here today. I have no announcements to make, so why don't we get right to it? Does anyone have something they want or need to share?"

Lincoln made a point to stare at her. Barnes' attention was divided between examining everyone and everything in the room. Wanda and the rest of the group appeared relatively disinterested.

"Darcy?" the doc asked, tone tinged with concern. "Is everything okay?"

A slew of curses ran through her mind at being caught. She had hoped to maybe sandwich her word vomit between whatever else people threw out today and have it get lost in the shuffle.

"No, not really."

"Do you want to share with the group?" Dr. Martel asked. "Or would you prefer to discuss it privately?"

She shook her head. "No, no. I figure I'm in good company for this. Not that I'm trying to be stereotypical or anything…"

The doctor smiled and nodded with understanding and encouragement. As much as Darcy enjoyed bitching about the retreat house and the therapy, Dr. Martel was good at what she did.

"You're free to say what you need to say here, Darcy. Go ahead."

Deep breath in, slow exhale. Darcy focused on a spot in the middle of their circled chairs and dove right in.

"My mom was a great woman. Super smart, funny, busted her ass every day. Before the cancer, I can't remember when she wasn't working full time, studying for her second Master's or PhD, and taking care of me at the same time. Mom was the most organized, stubborn, and loving person I've ever known. She was promoted to Lab Director at the company she worked for right around the time puberty hit me in the tits, so there were some truly epic shouting matches."

A few people snorted. Darcy smiled a little. Thinking about those petty, hormone-fueled fights gave her an ache in the chest. Guilt mixed and regret mixed with cringing. At least she could laugh and joke about that now. There were more important things to get out now.

"Papa and Gramma died when I was young, and mom had her tubes tied after I popped out, so it was just her and I for most of my life. We weren't poor or rich. Sometimes things got tight when typical life bullshit went wrong. Like the time a pipe burst in the basement, some asshole smashed in the driver's window on her car, and the stove went kaput all in the same week. But like I said, mom was smart and she was lucky enough to have a decent-paying job; she had a pretty good emergency fund and a crap ton of investments. We always had plenty of food on the table, good clothes on our backs, and a more or less reliable roof over our heads. She was real proud of being able to do all that on her own. A few of my friends only had a mom or a dad, a few others had both. I never felt like I was missing out on anything. I felt normal. Happy with my life, even when hormones told me I should hate her for not letting me stay out until three in the morning."

"She sounds like an amazing person, Darcy," Dr. Martel said with her soft smile. "Do you have a picture?"

"Oh! Yeah, I do." Darcy tugged her phone out of her pocket and pulled up her favorite picture of the two of them bundled up against the cold, ice skates on their feet, goofy grins on their faces, and leaning against one another for balance. She passed it to the doc.

"Aw, that's a nice one. May I share?"

Darcy nodded. "Sure. I think that might be one of the last pictures before the cancer started getting really bad."

"Holy - you're like time warp twins," Lincoln said as he zoomed in and out.

Wanda leaned over and raised a brow. "The resemblance is quite uncanny."

"Her mother's hair and eyes are a lighter brown, and Darcy's chin is more square. Forehead is more broad too."

Everyone stared at Barnes.

"What?"

"Her taste in music is - was - horrible," Darcy added. "Anyway. Point is that even when dumb teenage me was accusing mom of regretting having me at a young age when she threatened to kill me if I ever got pregnant before I graduated college…I never did more than wonder who my dad might be. There was zero urge to know or find him, and not even in a bad way. It just simply didn't occur to me that a father should be something to want. At least until I turned into the one taking care of her between school and whatever work I could find at fifteen. Lucky for us, mom had fantastic insurance coverage through work, but the medical bills still ate through her savings when things went really south."

"That must have been very difficult for you at such a young age," Dr. Martel empathized. "What of your friends? Having a support system is important for the ill and loved ones alike."

Darcy shrugged a shoulder. "They were cool about it, but none of them really understood what was going on. I couldn't hang out because I was taking care of mom or visiting her at the hospital, and when on the rare occasion I could, I wasn't _really_ there, you know? I bummed them out. Which I totally understand. What sort of newly-minted teenager wants to be around someone that has not only seen their mom's ass and bits, but given them a full on bath to get the liquid shit and vomit off? That follows you.

"But I don't blame them for drifting. If it had happened to Stacey and not me, I would have done the same thing. Kids don't want to know what death is. It shatters that whole invincibility mentality."

"Were you bitter?" Lincoln flicked his eyes away from the floor to here and back. "I would have been."

"Oh yeah," Darcy admitted and looked at her clenched hands. "Back then I was. I had been thrown in to the deep end of adulthood, and I definitely saw myself as mature and above all that petty high school bullshit. But that was just a lie; I was furiously jealous. Kim and Alex had boyfriends and went to movies on the weekends while I spoon fed my mother. That's when I started to question where the hell he was, why did I have to be dealing with this alone? It just got worse from there. I didn't know what being alone really meant until she passed."

"How old were you?"

That sounded like Barnes. Darcy didn't look up. Revisitng that awful part of her life was difficult enough without having to look someone in the eye.

"Sixteen. There was no one listed as the father on my birth certificate, so I was just stamped as a ward of the state. What the solicitors hadn't sold to pay off mom's bills was donated to charity. Which I still find funny seeing as I was a charity case, but all I really got was a monthly stipend from the government, pity from everyone at school until I had to switch, and exposure to the whole spectrum of human nature inside the system."

"And nothing from your dad." Lincoln.

Darcy nodded. "Nada. Not a word. At the time I figured hey, maybe he doesn't even know I exist. Maybe he's dead too. Of course I didn’t have so much as a library card to find out anymore. So I lost hope in him. And through the course of 2 years and six foster homes and youth houses, I pretty much lost hope in everything else too. Don't get me wrong, there were a few families that were great. I would almost be okay. But for one reason or another I would have to be shipped off to a new place. Finally, I just aged out of the system."

"Aged out?" Wanda asked. "What does that mean?"

"The government recognizes you as an adult when you turn eighteen," Barnes said.

Wanda shook her head, the confusion still on her face. Barnes hummed and scratched a thumb nail over his bottom lip. He shifted in his seat and suddenly a low outpouring of words came out of him. Darcy had to cock an ear towards him; it felt like her brain was hearing him, but not connecting with any meaning.

"Is that…Russian?" Lincoln asked, surprised and interested.

Wanda grinned. "No," she said, and gave an appreciative nod to Barnes followed by what Darcy assumed was a thank you.

"I believe Barnes would prefer the attention to be back on you, Darcy," Dr. Martel said, looking pleased as punch.

Darcy had to admit the guy might have some interesting qualities stuffed between the weirdness and Resting Bitch Face. Qualities that would have to be explored and prodded at. Later.

"Yeah, so there I was, an adult in the eyes of the law, and nowhere to go," she continued, averting her eyes from Barnes as soon as he noticed her staring. "I had about three months until my first semester of college - which, by the way, I have to give huge props to my social worker for. Without her, I probably wouldn't have cared enough to graduate high school, let alone apply for college and then all those grants and scholarships."

"So what did you do?" Lincoln leaned forward, elbows resting on knees, and looked perplexed. "I've stayed with groups of younger homeless people, but they were usually runaways."

Darcy nodded. "I met a lot of people that way. Learned a lot from them, where the freshest food dumps were and when, who you could safely go to for day olds, what places to avoid…There were outreach programs that helped out too. When the youth centers had free beds, I would stay. Otherwise I was hunkered down in abandoned houses or buildings with people I knew I could trust."

"It is good to have trust, but not too much," Wanda commented. "I'm sorry that you didn't have blood there with you."

Darcy smiled at  the woman and then laughed. "The doc is the judge on my trust issues."

"Oh, not true at all," Dr. Martel said with the usual hand-waving accompaniment. "I merely guide. You are doing very well here, Darcy. You are trusting us to let you confide without judgement and help you start to accept and move forward."

"Yeah, I guess that's true. Uh, pre-emptive thank you…?"

"I find it amusing that you are able to talk so much, and so quickly, yet fail to reveal the heart of the story," Wanda drawled.

"The short version just sounds like me being whiny," Darcy said in defense. "The point is that life was pretty shitty, and then throughout college I managed to properly grow up a little. I met Jane, Eric, tazered the Asgardian god of Thunder, traveled a little, learned how to drive…then I got hurt during the second alien invasion, and I finally met my father."

Lincoln stared at her, a bit stunned. "I have so many questions."

Darcy snorted. "Don't act like you haven't zapped crazy strong weird people before."

"Point taken."

"So yeah. Daddy dearest shows up. Did I mention that I had no idea he was my dad for about a week out of the four he was around? Apparently he ran a blood test on me just to be sure, and someone let that little tidbit slip."

Dr. Martel's lips pursed a the slightest amount, the first sign of disapproval that Darcy had ever seen the woman display. "That…is ethically ambiguous."

"Right? To think I thought he was pretty great up to that point, and then I find out he knew about me from the very beginning and ignored my mother and I for my whole life. All of that old bitterness just…came rushing back," Darcy said and crossed her arms around herself, tight. "Pile that on top of my injuries and the freakiness of  space aliens trying to murder me then narrowly avoiding  the destruction of the universe, and I kind of just…went nuts. Tried to deal with it on my own, but that didn't work out so well. Voila, here I am."

"That call you received this morning," Wanda spoke, putting the pieces together. "The one that made you more angry than usual..."

Darcy's grin was grim. "Yep. That was him. Ever since the cat was let out of the bag, he's been trying to talk to me and spin his bullshit."

She ran a hand through her hair and itched her scalp out of agitation. "I can't talk to him. There's just too much crap I'm still trying to figure out and deal with, and he thinks he can just waltz in and fill a role. Like it's nothing. I don't know who he really is, and I can't trust anything he says. Now he knows where I am, and I'm freaking out that he might show up here."

"We will handle the lemons as they fall," Dr. Martel said and laid a warm, reassuring hand on Darcy's shoulder.

"Wanda can make him in to a puppet, and I can use him as target practice if you like," Lincoln said with a friendly grin that had an edge of eagerness to it.

"Such a disruption would not be conducive to the goals of this environment," Wanda responded. "He would need to be crushed quickly and quietly."

"I could help with that."

"I would advise against that, Barnes," Dr. Martel chided though she was doing very badly at trying to hide her enjoyment of the comradery. "That would not be conducive to your healing process. Nor to yours, Darcy."

"I don't know, I dig the teamwork vibe going on here. " Darcy smiled and picked at a peeling nail. "Thanks, by the way, everyone. I know I can be hard to live with what with the outbursts and yelling. Knowing that you're willing to have my back feels really good. I'm glad I finally let all of that out."

"Despite what spurred your need to share, this was a positive step forward, Darcy," Dr. Martel praised. "I'm proud of you for the effort and progress you have displayed during your time with us."

"Is this where we sing Kumbaya?" Darcy joked and grinned when the doc chuckled.

"I don’t think anyone would enjoy my singing voice, but you are free to sing all you want."

"Real talk," she said, switching to sober and serious. "I appreciate you helping, doc. Even when I roll my eyes or crack a non-kosher joke."

"I think we'd all be pretty lost without you," Lincoln said in agreement. A few of the others spoke to the same degree, causing Dr. Martel to practically glow.

"Ah, one could never ask for more than to see others grow," Dr. Martel said and inclined her head. "Thank you."

"All right," Lincoln said and rubbed his hands together. "Who wants to follow that?"

 

 

"…What are you doing?"

Bucky retracted his head from the fridge to see Darcy hanging in the doorway to the kitchen, one brow arched at him in bemused curiosity.

"I felt like a snack," he muttered and returned his attention to the filled-to-bursting compartments of the refrigerator.

"We just had dinner, like, three hours ago."

Bucky began picking items out, starting with a few eggs and what smelled like butter. "I have a very high metabolism."

"Uh huh." The woman peered over the open door. "What are you going to make?"

"Pizza."

Actually he hadn't been sure what he wanted, but it was one of those times that an itching feeling finally spit out a memory. Apparently he knew how to make pizza. In theory.

"Are you serious??" If someone had tossed a suitcase of money at her, Bucky was sure the reaction would have been the same. "Can I help? Would you split it with me? Pleeeeease! I haven't had pizza in ages and I am literally dying right now. I would do terrible things in a dirty alley for a slice of pie right now."

Bucky's brows shot up and a laugh escaped him before he knew what the sound coming from him was.

"All right, all right. Fair warning: I haven't done this in a long, long time."

"It could be burnt and made of cardboard and I wouldn't care."

She was serious. The dead desperation was…unnatural when there were no guns or knives or explosions involved, but strangely endearing in the current context.

"Can you take orders?" he asked.

"No," she said and tossed him a white apron from a hook inside the pantry. "I would have joined the army otherwise. I can, however, follow directions and provide amusing commentary."

"Seeing as I don't really have a choice here - "

"None."

" - I guess that will have to do." Bucky looked around and realized that he had no idea where anything useful was. Maybe it was good that she was being so insistent. "I need flour, a mixing bowl, cutting board…" 

The list went on, and like a helpful drone bee, Darcy procured all that was needed without complaint. The love of pizza was quite the motivation.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked while watching him knead and shape the dough. "Well, two questions. One may or may not be personal in nature. The other one definitely is."

Bucky gave her the side eye and saw nothing beyond a curious and somewhat hesitant woman. Who somehow had gotten flour smeared on her forehead.

"Shoot," he said and instructed her on how to start making a sauce.

Darcy set a pot of water to boil in order to pre-cook the fresh tomatoes and loosen the skins. "What made you suddenly want to make a pizza? Not that I'm complaining, obviously, since I'm a beneficiary."

"Idea just came to me," he said and used the back of a wrist to push hair from his vision. "Happens a lot lately."

Darcy cleared her throat and he saw that she was biting her lip. "You've got flour all over your forehead. And I don't believe you. That can't be all."

"So do you," Bucky pointed out and smirked when she slapped a hand to her own forehead. The shiny silver toaster was commandeered as an emergency mirror. "Not everything has a deeper, hidden meaning."

"It's so weird though." Darcy, flour-free, set a hand on her hip and stared at him. "Who suddenly decides to make pizza from scratch at ten at night? Oh my god, are you high? Did you sneak in weed?? Can I have some??"

"No, no, and no. That pot is ready for the tomatoes," he said, pointing at the boiling over pot. "I didn't see a pie shop on the way up here, or much of anything. How else would you expect to get a pizza?"

"I've been trying to figure that out for months." Darcy carefully dropped the tomatoes in to the water, yet still managed to get boiling backsplash on herself. She hissed and waved her hand around. Bucky shook his head and tried not to grin.

"You don't cook much do you?"

"I cook breakfast every damn day," she said with eyes narrowed at him.

"So I've heard. You cook some mean eggs and proper bacon, I'll give you that."

"So I've noticed."

She went from snippy to smug real quick, Bucky noticed. "Dull" was not an adjective for Darcy Lewis, that was for sure. "Consistent" and "stable" were yet to be determined.

"How did you learn how to make pizza from scratch?"

He grabbed a rag to wipe his hands clean. "Is that the sort of personal question or the definitely personal question?"

"Sort of personal."

Bucky could feel her gaze on the side of his face like the sun through a window on a bright day.

"I would ask if you consider that too personal, but that would be a third question."

"You would be right."

"About which part?"

"Yes." 

To Bucky's great amusement, Darcy let out a loud groan of frustration.

"Barnes, you drive me absolutely insane."

"And you look like a toddler about to have a temper tantrum." Her pout made the picture even better. "Drain the tomatoes without burning yourself and maybe I'll answer your question."

"Such a dear for worrying about my safety…"

"Sarcasm is my reward?" he teased and laughed when Darcy glared at him through a cloud of steam. "You make this too easy. What?"

She was stealing pensive glances, only paying half attention to the tomatoes flopping into the strainer nestled in the sink. "Nothing. You look different when you laugh. Aaand there he is. How you doing, Bitch Face? Can't say I missed you, but welcome back."

Darcy set the pot aside and wiped down the sink. "So pay up. Where did you learn to make pizza from scratch?"

"Taught myself." The withering look shot his way had him adding, "From a cookbook laying around in the kitchen. I was bored, hungry, and didn't have any pocket money."

"Wow. Great story. Deeply personal.  I can see why you wouldn't share. What am I doing with these tomatoes?"

"Since they're going to be the base of the sauce, we need the skins removed and then they can be pureed." He began measuring out spices.

"Can do." Darcy started using a knife to de-peel the tomatoes and then abandoned that when they more or less slipped off with some mild coaxing. She grinned and then giggled to herself.

"What now?"

"Pocket money," she quoted. "That's such a…I don't know. An old saying. I don't think I've ever heard someone say pocket money before."

Bucky tested a knife for sharpness and then began slicing up peperoni. "Yeah, well. I'm older than I look."

"Pfft. You barely look thirty." When he didn't say anything, Darcy raised a brow. "Well? How old are you?"

"Much older than you would believe. Pass me that cheese."

"Gee, it's almost like that's a personal question you don't want to answer. Hmm. I'll have to re-evaluate my Personal Question choice." Darcy tossed the peeled tomatoes in to a smaller pot and used a masher to crush them. "Can you get the immersion blender from the top cupboard, please?"

Bucky opened the aforementioned cupboard and stared at the collection of various pots and other kitchen things. "What's it look like?"

"…Seriously?" Darcy pointed at the blender. "The long-necked thing. For a guy who cooks, how do you not know what an immersion blender is?"

"For a girl that doesn't cook, how do you?" Bucky set the strange machine on the counter.

"I watch a lot of cooking shows. They use this thing to make sauces and soups really smooth." Darcy stole a few pieces of cheese from the pile Bucky was grating. "I wish we had some mozzarella…"

"We'll make due. Don't forget the spices and whatnot." From the corner of his eye Bucky watched her use the strange contraption to turn crushed tomatoes into a sauce  with little effort. "You sound like you're in a better mood. Compared to the past few days."

"You mean the entire time you've known me?" Darcy shrugged a shoulder. "Even if I did vomit the whole shebang out in front of everyone, not having to carry a weight around my neck feels good. It'll build back up, but for now… Anyway, it sounds like you're avoiding talking about yourself."

"I thought listening to my personal problems was Dr. Martel's job? Unless you're her apprentice now?"

"God no. I'm way too judgmental and she's so…zen."

"You would know more about that than me." Bucky dipped a wooden spoon into the sauce for a taste. "Might be a little too sweet."

Darcy took the spoon and took a taste for herself. "Nah. That's pretty good. I'm partial to the sweeter sauces. Most people would call me a heathen, but I like what I like."

The oven dinged and Bucky put the stretched dough on a pan to pre-bake.

"What's that supposed to do?"

"Makes the crust crispy," he explained and went back to grating cheese.

"So you're a thin crust kind of guy."

"It's what I'm used to."

"That's a weird answer."

He slapped her hand away from the pile of cut peperoni. "I'm a weird guy."

"This is true." Darcy kept eying the meat. Bucky eyed her, ever vigilant. "Not in a bad way. Just…weird. More weird than the other SHIELD agents I've met."

"I'm not a SHIELD agent."

Darcy rolled her eyes. "Technically no one is since that whole hullabaloo with HYDRA or whatever."

Bucky's brow raised for a second. She narrowed her eyes at him. "What's that look for?"

"What look?"

"That 'You have no idea what you're talking about' look."

"Well, seems like it's literally self-explanatory."

"Okay, we'll add aggravating know-it-all to your description list."

"Sure. I will politely add persistent in under nosy on yours."

"Oh?" Darcy turned on the oven light to check on the crust. "What else is on my list?"

"Never shuts up."

She laughed and checked the timer. "That is totally true. To be fair, I'm just trying to get to know my buddy. I think this might be ready to get pretty."

Bucky peeked through the window and judged her to be correct. "You're really buying in to that?"

"The buddy thing?" Darcy shrugged again. "Yeah, why not? We're making a pizza and no blood has been spilled."

"Yet."

"Yet. I'm willing to fight to the death over this thing."

"It might not even be any good." Bucky extracted the pan. "This recipe is ages old. You do sauce, I'll do cheese and meat."

Darcy plopped a large ladle of sauce onto the pre-baked crust and swirled it around. "There's a saying about pizza: it's like sex, even when it's bad, it's still pretty good."

"That is one hundred percent untrue."

"You poor soul! I shudder to think how terrible your life has been to have experienced bad pizza and sex."

Bucky put a generous amount of cheese and peperoni on top of the sauce. "Getting personal there, Asshole."

"How?! Everyone eats pizza. Everyone has sex." Darcy stared at the pizza with a deep hunger in her eyes. "If fucking that pizza was possible, I would do it right here and now."

"That's just unsanitary and disturbing."

"You're deflecting again," she said and slid the pizza in to the oven. "How long for this bad boy?"

"Put the timer at ten minutes. We'll keep an eye on it."

"Can do. I think watching the cheese get bubbly and golden qualifies as food porn." Darcy lowered herself to the floor in front of the oven. 

Bucky thought that Darcy was far weirder than he could ever be. He had reasons for being reserved and standoffish, even mean and violent. She was just odd.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She sighed, making him wonder what could possibly be the reasoning behind it.

"Whatever." Darcy slapped the floor next to her. "Pop a squat. We're not going anywhere for a while."

"I'm not sitting on the floor."

"Why not? It's not going to bite your ass, I promise."

"Because it's a terrible vantage point."

"Terrible vant - what the hell does that even mean?? You have to bend down to see the pizza anyway." Darcy rubbed her forehead. "This is like trying to convince a cat to go for a Sunday walk."

"Now you're just talking gibberish." 

"You're gibberish. You are the human embodiment of nonsensical actions and words."

"Said the girl sitting on the floor."

"I like the floor," Darcy said and wiggled her sock-covered feet. "It's nice and warm down here by the oven. The air smells like pizza. Life is blah and boring up there. This makes much more sense."

"Is there a sass quota you have to fill everyday?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

Bucky started cleaning up the mess they had made and tried not to respond. He didn't know what the woman was on, but any further quip-trading would start to make him more envious of what it was that made her not care about whatever nonsense fell out of her mouth.

"You're enjoying this."

"Not in the least," Bucky lied. "Nothing that comes out of you makes any damn sense."

"That's not the point."

"What are you so smug about?"

Darcy's knowing smirk was more aggravating than the thumping vibrations from her nightly music; both burrowed in to his brain and plucked at nerves with ragged nails, but she would probably never turn the smirk off.

"The pizza is starting to brown."

He leaned down to check through the window. The sight of bubbling cheese, peperoni shiny with grease, and the browning edges of crust made his stomach gurgle with hunger. The sound was loud enough to make Darcy laugh.

"Seriously though, where do you put all of the food you eat?"

"My stomach." Bucky switched off the oven and pulled on a mitt. "Scoot. I don't want to burn you."

"Don't worry about me," she said and stood up with a groan. "That pizza should be your first priority."

He set the pan on top of the range and then found a large cutting board to transfer the pizza to. Darcy held up a pair of kitchen shears.

"Couldn't find a pizza cutter." There was a slight pout, but not enough to dampen the buzzing anticipation around her. "What's your preference, squares or triangles?"

"Big triangles. I fold mine like a proper Brooklynite," he said and judged the dimensions of the pie. "Probably should have thought of that before. I think we can get at least four decent slices still."

Darcy started cutting with careful precision though still managed to burn the tips of her fingers when they strayed too close to the molten cheese. "You're from Brooklyn? Damn, no pressure then."

The slip of tongue annoyed him, but at least she hadn't latched on too hard. Maybe his stomach was taking over his brain. Strange. Food usually wasn't anything more than an inconvenient necessity of the body.

Darcy passed Bucky a plate and then let her hand dance over the pie as she waffled between which slice she wanted more.

"Hmmm…this one!" she exclaimed and pulled the carefully prepared, floppy morsel onto her plate. "Almost a perfect cheese to meat ratio, right here. Oh my god, I'm salivating so much right now, you have no idea."

Bucky tested the temperature of his own slice with the cybernetic tip of a finger and then wiped it clean. "Too hot yet. You'll burn the shit out of your mouth and not be able to taste anything."

"Why do you hate fun?" Darcy blew on her slice for a few seconds before nibbling at the edge. Deeming it safe, she took a full bite.

Bucky followed suit. They ate in blessed silence for a minute, each of them taking a few more bites and soaking in the flavor of their creation.

Darcy tilted her head to the side and then shrugged a shoulder. "It's…not bad."

"Not the best I've ever had," Bucky added and finished off his slice in six bites.

"Not the worst either." Darcy ate more and stared off in to space. "You were right, I think the sauce might be a little too sweet."

"Cheese isn't the best either."

"Maybe we can get some mozzarella smuggled in. Or something with more flavor, at least. This is just missing something."

With another slice folded in one hand, Bucky began searching for something in the cupboards between bites. "Aha! Let's try some of this."

He had found a bottle of high quality olive oil and poured a pool onto his plate. Darcy dipped an edge in and tried it. She shrugged a shoulder again.

"Closer, warmer. I mean I'm still going to eat this whole thing with a reasonable amount of enjoyment," she said. "Not a bad first try, team."

"Yeah." Bucky swirled his slice in the oil and mulled over the taste. The pie in his memory hadn't turned out much better, but putting the ingredients together to make something completely different had stuck out as important.

Bucky looked to Darcy who was amiably munching away and soaking a torn off piece in the oil.

"Basil," he said. "Next time we add basil."

Darcy smiled at him. "Yeah! Basil."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took forever to complete. I'm still not happy with it, but nothing is ever perfect. Next chapter will have more focus on Bucky, and we'll see a fire start to catch. :)
> 
> I have no idea why that old end note keeps getting tacked on. I'm working on it. lol


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In painting, you have unlimited power. You have the ability to move mountains. You can bend rivers. But when I get home, the only thing I have power over is the garbage." - Bob Ross

The first snow of the season had started just before the rays of cold blue and gold light had touched the valley floor. Giant, fluffy flakes sauntered down from the sky and Darcy, huddled in a thick blanket, had watched with delight. Who didn't like snow? The weather had been increasingly frosty and now there was finally something to back up the "talk". Barnes hadn't shared her excitement when he left for his morning run.

Which had been an hour ago. What had started as a tame dance of flakes had rapidly evolved into a blitzkrieg. Flake stuck to flake stuck to flake, faster and faster until the trees and grounds were completely covered under a thick, dense layer. The sky looked like the static of an old television set. If she stared out the window too long, her brain started to panic; there was nothing but vague shapes in shades of white and grey, and none of the shapes were actually real.

"He's fine."

Darcy glared over her shoulder at Wanda. Whereas Darcy relied on blankets to wrap herself in, Wanda favored calm. Secretly, Darcy was jealous.

"You're not supposed to be doing that," Darcy chided.

"What, reading?" she asked with a smile hovering around the edges of her mouth, and then turned a page of the book in her lap.

"Technically speaking, yeah. _Reading_."

"Technically speaking, I was _advised_ against _reading_." Wanda sipped from a large mug of hot chocolate.

"Okay, then I am officially asking you to stay out of my head," Darcy sniped and refocused on the madness of flurries. "Please."

"I hadn't planned on going in." Another page turn. "You wear your mind right on your face."

"That is so not true," Darcy mumbled and squinted. Something sort of looked like it was moving towards the house. Abandoning her post at the window, she made a brisk journey to the front door just as it was opening. A blast of cold knocked the breath right out of Darcy.

"…Barnes?" She shivered and pulled the blanket tighter. The thing closing the door was vaguely man-like.

"Yeah?"

Darcy breathed a sigh of relief. "You're alive! I thought we might have lost you in the blizzard."

"Why?" Barnes ruffled the flakes from his hair, then stomped and brushed off the rest. "It's just a little snow."

"A little - !" The man was proper crazy. He didn't need a little therapy, he needed meds and a hospital to fix his brain. "You've got sweatpants and a light jacket on! And you're soaked through! How are you not lost in the woods and frozen to death??"

Barnes shrugged a shoulder and slipped his soggy tennis shoes off. "My mother was colder than that. I've lived through worse."

Darcy shook her head and walked off.

"Sorry for disappointing you?"

"Go drink something hot!" she yelled back. Meanwhile her brain could reboot. The people around her made less and less sense the more she learned about them.

 

_Thud. Thud. Thud thud thud. Thud thud._

While going a few rounds with the bag was satisfying, there was no ultimate fulfillment. Bucky wasn't sure if it was because the bag couldn't fight back, or if the cause was something else entirely.

However, there was little time for further contemplation as a sudden loss of power had the lights and machines going out. That included the treadmill Darcy had been running on. Now she was a groaning tangle of limbs sporting a few rubber track burns.

He had to admit that the woman had a talent for making him want to laugh.

"Well that was less than graceful." Bucky helped her up with one arm and steadied her. "Anything broken?"

"There hasn’t been any pride left to break for a while, so no. I don't think so." Darcy rolled a shoulder and grimaced. "Man that smarts…"

Bucky prodded the joint with gentle fingers and shushed her when she tried to shy away. "No, not broken. Not dislocated either. Probably a good idea to have it looked at anyway."

"Awesome." Darcy sighed and looked through the dark grey semi-light of the gym. "I guess the power went out."

"An astute observation, Sherlock."

"Shut up," she grumbled with an accompanying glare. "And the phrase is 'No shit, Sherlock.'"

"I'll try to remember that in the future." He began unwinding the tape from his hands and squinted through the window near the ceiling. The whole thing was almost blocked by snow. A small gap revealed a shivering mass of grey sky.

"Have you really been in worse than this?" Darcy asked, her face a mix of reserved doubt and anxiety.

"I've been in enough northern mountainous areas to know this is pretty standard weather," Bucky said. What he didn't say was how unusual it was for an obviously well-kept ancestral building like the retreat house to be affected by a power outage after a few hours of heavy snow.

"Come on." Bucky jerked his head to the stairs. "We'll see what's up."

Several people were gathered in the common room watching the storm and chattering nervously. Bucky heard Dr. Martel's measured footsteps coming from the hall behind them.

"Lincoln." The woman touched Lincoln lightly on the shoulder for his attention. "May I ask a favor?"

Lincoln's grin was tinged sardonicism. "Let me guess: you want me to take a look at the fuse box?"

"I know that everyone would appreciate if you did," she replied. Her familiar smile was replaced by serious focus; it was the look Bucky saw on Steve's face when he was directing people through a firefight.

Bucky checked the temperature on his watch and was surprised to see it dropping at a quick and steady rate. The smiley face was now frowning and dressed in a hat, scarf, and mittens. It hugged itself and shivered.

"If we don't get the power back on, we're going to freeze. Worse, the pipes could burst if the temp drops far enough," he said, inserting himself in to the conversation.

Lincoln's pursed lips parted and he gave in with a sigh. "All right, all right. I'll see what I can do."

"Darcy," the doc waved her in to the pow wow. "Would you mind showing them where the fuse box is?"

Darcy rubbed and rotated her shoulder, looking not at all enthused about the request. "Sure. I love the creepy utility closet."

"You each have my thanks." Dr. Martel flashed a smile and moved on to herd the others.

"Where's the utility closet?" Bucky asked Darcy.

She motioned for the two men to follow and headed off towards the far end of the house. "The basement. …A different basement. Obviously."

The stairs to the separate basement were narrow, steep, and creaked with every shift of weight. Their flashlights cast stark beams of light, highlighting pieces of the space but never the whole. The basement itself was small, smelled of stale, dusty air, and was peppered with broken furniture and disintegrating cardboard boxes. An old box of children's toys had split and a black marble eye set in a dirty porcelain face stared back at Bucky.

"Moment of honesty," Bucky muttered, wishing he had brought a better flashlight with; the cramped space was extremely uncomfortable. "I haven't had the heebie jeebies like this in decades."

"Right??" Darcy made a face of disgust, shook herself, and jimmied open a warped door. "Fuse box, furnace, water heater. Good luck fitting both of you in there."

Lincoln and Bucky exchanged a look.

"After you," Bucky gestured him forward. "I insist."

He sighed and then coughed on a lungful of dust. "Ugh, I hate this place."

"No you don't." Darcy propped the utility closet door open with a box. Having the one, narrow exit open helped soothe the niggling worm of anxiety burrowing around in Bucky's gut, but not by much. Small spaces had never bothered him as a soldier. This was new. Hard to tell if it was the space itself or the combination of shifting light and limited escape ways.

The younger man knocked a shin against some unseen obstacle and hissed a few choice things Bucky pretended not to hear.

"No, I really, really do," Lincoln growled through his teeth. "Where the hell is this damn power box??"

"Probably behind a mass of old spider webs," Darcy commented from the doorway.

Bucky turned to investigate the closest wall and was promptly greeted by the ghostly feeling of threads sticking to his hair, eyes, and mouth. He made a sound of annoyed disgust and rubbed the webs away.

"Pretty sure my face just found the majority of those."

"Aha!" Lincoln crowed with victory and highlighted the fuse box in the beam of his flashlight. "Bingo."

The box was covered in a light layer of dust and webs, but not nearly as many as the rest of the basement would have suggested. Lincoln popped the latch on the cover. The thing was much newer than Bucky expected for a building of such age; no yellowing labels or dubious mess of wires, just a logical layout of fuse switches set in a metal face plate that still had a sheen to it.

"Hmm…" Lincoln hummed and examined the switches closely, his fingers running over them. "I think we have a much bigger problem."

"How do you know?"

He glared Darcy. "Because I have eyes. I'm a conductor, Darcy, not an electric current spirit reader."

"That's not what I meant at all!"

"Knock it off,"  Bucky ordered and rapped a knuckle on the fuse box cover to refocus on their mission. "What's the issue, Lincoln?"

"None of these are blown," he said and flicked a hand at the offending box. "Everything here is normal. The power must have been cut off at a different source."

"Can't be a wiring failure," Bucky mused out loud. "Assuming this place was updated with the fuse box."

"Gotta be outside then," Darcy suggested. "Maybe snow or ice brought down a power line?"

Lincoln nodded and relatched the box cover. "Could be. Looks like I get to traipse around in a blizzard. Fun."

"The lines are on the northwest side," Bucky supplied, having seen them on his morning runs.

"You should go with him, Barnes," Darcy said and kicked the box out of their way as they exited. "Apparently you're half abominable snowman."

Lincoln raised a brow at him. Bucky shook his head.

"Don't ask."

 

Coming out of the basement felt like loosening your pants after a large meal: a huge release of pressure, but your stomach was still upset with you for stuffing it to bursting. Bucky excused himself to his room to fetch a coat and staunchly ignored the cold beads of sweat making the back of his neck itch.

The gray-blue light in his room was brighter than the hallway, thankfully, but made his mind itch just as bad as the sweat. Bursts of wind caught against an outcrop of the house and made it howl. Bucky stood in the middle of the room, watching the snow swirl outside the window.

A door slammed, jarring him back in to action. The coat was in the closet just as he remembered. Gloves were stuffed inside the pockets, and some rummaging around the dresser revealed a knit cap and scarf.

"Are you feeling all right?"

A zing of adrenaline went up Bucky's spine. It took more than a moment to recognize Darcy standing in his doorway. Her eyes zeroed in on the hand he held to the side holster that wasn't there.

"Don't do that," he growled and played at wiping the sweat from his palm.

"Noted." She pressed her lips together, but more words fell out as per usual.  "Really though. You seem…off."

"Doesn't matter." Bucky wound the scarf around his neck. "There's things that need doing."

Darcy approached with agitation along every line of her body. Nervous energy made her reach out and tuck the ends of the scarf in to the collar of the jacket, ensuring that no skin would be exposed to the cold.

"There are probably twelve other people that know where the power lines are. If you're feeling - "

Bucky shook off her fussing. "It's not a problem. You don't need to make it in to one."

"Hey, come on," Darcy said, mustering up a grin. "We're buddies, aren't we? We're supposed to look after each other."

"Except that we're not." Bucky brushed past her and pulled on one glove. "I didn't agree to anything."

"We made pizza together!"

"A mediocre, bordering on bland pizza." Bucky stopped at the door and made a sweeping motion to usher her out. "Get over it, Lewis."

"Oh, so we're back to Lewis are we?" Darcy pursed her lips and then shrugged the anxiety off to a more bearable angle on her back. "Fine. You're right. I'm over it. Have fun playing in the snow."

Their casual dismissal of one another amped up the tension running through the air. Bucky closed the door with a firm click and stalked off to join Lincoln at the front door. The younger man was similarly bundled and less than enthusiastic.

"Let's get this over with," he mumbled and adjusted his cap.

Bucky nodded in agreement. "I'll go slow. We'll keep the house on the left. If you become snow blind and can't find the house, stay put. I'll find you. Worse comes to worse, we'll abort and try again when the storm lightens up."

He turned the knob and watched Lincoln take a deep breath. "Ready?" he asked.

Lincoln nodded. "If we come back, we'll toast to stupid ideas."

 

"This is so stupid," Darcy muttered to herself as she paced the library floor. "I should have kept my mouth shut."

Wanda sighed from her spot in the overstuffed chair by a cheerful crackling fire. "Happens often, I'll bet."

Darcy stopped and stared at her, a surge of anger and resent for the woman's calm in such a situation flowing through. "Have you always been an ass or is this just a symptom of why you're here?"

Wanda's eyes flicked to Darcy. She closed the book and set it aside. "Darcy, on the best of days you are an over-emotional wreck. Everyone's demons manifest in an outburst now and then, but you let yours off the leash constantly and at the expense of others."

The hot righteousness leaked out of Darcy like an untied balloon. As the words sunk in, there was not a lot that Darcy could disagree with.

"Beyond that, you have a bad habit of letting your caring nature escalate in to ridiculous and destructive proportions."

"You could have stopped at the first bit," Darcy mumbled. "That was a hell of a blow."

"That said," Wanda continued over her. "I do not have such a dislike as to ignore you completely."

Darcy narrowed her eyes in confusion, her mind trying to work out if that was a compliment or not. "Thank…you?"

She finally just decided that she didn't know Wanda well enough. Maybe that was part of the woman's point.

That was something to think over later. Dr. Martel came bustling into the library, worry lines evident at her eyes and mouth.

"Have either of you seen Barnes?"

"Yeah, he and Lincoln teamed up to investigate the power lines outside the house," Darcy said, not liking the direction this could go in. "Ice might have snapped one and caused the blackout. Why?"

The doctor's worry lines deepened. "They're outside?"

Darcy nodded. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure yet." she looked to Wanda. "Normally I would not ask this, but - "

A flash of light and a sizzling crack cut Dr. Martel off. The three women went to the windows, straining their eyes to see any sign of Lincoln or Barnes. The doc looked at the flashing animations on her watch and then dashed out of the office without a word. Darcy and Wanda stared at one another in a beat of silence. The two of them followed, hearing the doc barking orders ahead of them.

Cold air rushed over them as they approached the open front door. The foyer was covered in a thin layer of drifting snow. Darcy stuck her head outside and squinted. She could hear more shouting, mostly people shouting Barnes' name and cursing.

"I think they're fighting," Darcy said, feeling like a helpless human in a world of highly trained assassins, gods, magic, and aliens. Par for the course, really. "Wanda, what's going on?"

Wanda raised a palm toward the commotion. "I'm not sure. Something is wrong, there's too much panic. Barnes is - " She sucked in a breath and gritted her teeth. Wanda whispered something that sounded like a curse or plea to god in her Not Russian tongue.

"Wanda?" She didn't answer. A light red was in her eyes and they were focused on something far away. Darcy was in full panic mode now. "Geezus, are you okay?"

One of their house mates came flying in to view and landed on his back. The snow cushioned most of the impact, but he groaned loudly in pain.

Wanda snapped back and ran in to the storm shouting, "LINCOLN! NO!"

Another bright flash of light blinded Darcy. The force of it knocked Wanda back. Darcy blinked repeatedly, trying to dispel the ghostly reliefs of people from her vision, and made a clumsy effort to help the other woman get back on her feet. Darcy's body shook from more than the cold or the adrenaline, there was the old and familiar fear and knowledge that she was out of her depth.

A figure came silently through the unending onslaught of snow, dark and impassive, eyes bright and without emotion. He moved with a single-minded purpose and wore a face she knew in a way that she did not recognize.

A painful digging of fingers into Darcy's bruised shoulder shattered her inaction and forced her to take in a lung full of frozen air.

"Get out of here, Darcy!" Wanda hissed and shoved her towards the open door of the retreat house. "There's nothing in there to bring him under control!"

"Then don't try to control him! There's got to be something deeper!" Darcy yelled. "What would bring you back? What would bring any of us back from whatever _that_ is?"

Someone landed on Barnes' back in what looked more like a last-ditch effort to buy time rather than bring him down. Through the cold terror, a stupid idea came to her.

"DON'T YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!" Wanda hollered, her eyes burning red.

Darcy was terrible at taking orders. She did, however, have wicked aim with a snowball. Though the one she whipped at Wanda's face was little more than a one-handed compressed wad, her aim was true and the missile blinded Wanda long enough for her to make a run for Barnes.

"HEY, BITCH FACE!"

There was a fraction of a second where something rippled under the impassive surface, and then it was gone like it never happened. Barnes refocused on the house, ignoring the loud-mouthed woman coming at him. There was no doubt that he could toss her away as easily as a cat pushes a ball of paper off a table.

There was a significant advantage to never being perceived as a threat: no one ever saw you coming. Darcy also had the advantage of a deep well of anger to make up for what she lacked in size and weight. She put all of it behind her fist and drove it home into Barnes' solar plexus.

_Kamehameha, motherfucker!_

The hit was hard enough to make him stagger. Yet leather-clad fingers as strong as iron clamped around the back of Darcy's neck and used the leverage to toss her deep in to the snow. No more than few seconds passed to give her a teasing taste of air before the hand was back and holding her down.

_Oh my god, I'm going to drown in snow…_

Suddenly the force and weight was lifted away.

"WANDA! DO IT NOW!"

Darcy rolled in to her back to see a disheveled Dr. Martell holding back Barnes as he struggled to shake her off. Martell was a sturdy-looking woman, but her strength and control over someone that appeared to be above her weight class was otherworldly.

Wanda worked quickly, directing swirls of glowing red mist that, presumably, delved in to every available crack of Barnes' mental defenses. The lines of concentration on her face gave her a fierce appearance. Despite the cold, small droplets of sweat formed at the woman's temples.

Barnes tried to throw the doc over his shoulder and, thankfully, failed. Dr. Martel kicked the back of his knees, making him fall to the ground.

"Hurry, Wanda," she implored. "My strength may hold, but he will find a way to break free eventually."

Wanda shook her head and growled in frustration. "The holes, they shift too quickly! The glimpses are not enough!"

"Put them all together," Darcy suggested through her chattering teeth. "Keep playing them over and over, maybe something will stick."

"Che. Worth a shot," she admitted and closed her eyes. "Perhaps…"

Her hands pulled slowly away and then snapped back, condensing the red tendrils until Barnes' face looked like it was inside a living mass of fire.

"Ah," Wanda's mouth twisted into a grin. "There you are…Bucky…"

Barnes stopped struggling, his eyes locking on to Wanda and shifting back and forth between confusion and impassivity.

There was an annoying tickle at the back of Darcy's mind, like the name was familiar somehow. She looked between Dr. Martel and Wanda.

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

 

Before the electrical surge, Bucky had picked up a vague idea of what Lincoln could do. Trusting him to take care of the frayed live line should have been fine. There was no way that being around a person capable of handling electric power would be a bad idea, right?

So wrong. So, so wrong. He should have known better. The cold front mixing with his anxiety had been bad enough.

In a blink the regret was overshadowed by an old and familiar pain, one that he had hoped to never feel again yet always carried the fear of.

The surge was only strong enough to throw Bucky into wounded animal mode which was mildly less dangerous than defense mode.

In his mind, he was thrown back in to the lab, strapped down to a chair tight enough where the only relief from the pressure came when they made him scream. Everything was bright, making his eyes hurt and vision even more warped by the glare off of the tools they used to "improve" him.

And he never knew why. What was the point? Bucky knew that he must have come close to the truth a few times. He knew what the phrase "wipe him" meant in a deep-seated way - the words always brought the smell of ozone and burning flesh and the taste of rubber. His bones always anticipated the ache, his nerves the stabbing pain, his muscles the helpless tensing.

Accepting that he was made to be a tool did not stop them from wiping him over and over and over and over, but feeling nothing was better than feeling everything. The need to beg rose up from time to time, but all he had to do was fade out and give them the Soldier that they wanted.

But he had been free, had he not? Was that snow under his palms or the icy metal of the cryochamber?

His heart beat ratcheted up  faster and faster, up to a rate than any normal human could never withstand. They came to drag him back, he could see their unremarkable faces coming in and out of focus. Bucky remembered what the crisp taste of mountain air felt like on the back of his throat and decided that the ultimate nothingness would be better than the freezing hell they would drag him to.

He struck first. The bodies crumbled away under his hands and were replaced with new ones, over and over like waves beating against a rock. Being the unmovable rock was okay with Bucky, even if he would disappear in to the water eventually. Maybe the fight was hopeless, but at least it would be a good one.

A storm of lightning came from nowhere, enveloping him in a surge of energy that burned and bruised not only his body but his mind. Bitterness mixed with the taste of blood and metal in Bucky's mouth. Of course. They would never chance him gaining control. Freedom was an illusion.

He gave in to the nothingness again.  Why not? Life, such as it was, could not be easy but it could be uncomplicated. The Soldier rose amongst the stunned bodies in the snow. The one left standing was injured, weak, and untrained. He was dealt with swiftly.

The house was likely larger than what the billows of snow revealed. Securing it would be a challenge. Per protocol, he would then call for an extraction.

The first line of defense was pathetic: two half-frozen women. For a brief moment, he thought he recognized one. His training forced him to focus. He ignored them. The smaller one turned into a surprise; the shot was lucky, and curiously stronger than a person of that size ought to be. Best to eliminate the annoyance.

The Soldier stumbled when a dense weight latched on from behind. He tried to dislodge and throw the person off to no avail. The others converged on him, shouting. He could barely move. He hadn't been pinned down like this since…sometime. He couldn't remember. Something tickled the back of his mind, an image of a blonde runty kid who had no business throwing his fists around. A gang of idiots surrounded them.

The Soldier turned his feet and angled his body just so. If he couldn't pull the weight forward, perhaps he could -

"Bucky…"

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

The Soldier paused. Why did that feel familiar? He meant to rip away from his captor, but something inside had paralyzed his limbs. There was a fist around his heart that squeezed harder the more he noticed details around him, like how the voices of the women did not seem out of place. Or that the short one had made him laugh that morning. The Soldier shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out whatever mind attack the witch was putting him under - it was a hopeless defense. Images lit up behind his eyes. Smells triggered memories that belonged to someone else. Sounds beat on his ear drums. His head felt like it was going to explode.

Bucky

Bucky

Bucky

Bucky

Bucky

Buck -

 

"Come on, Bitch Face," Darcy urged in a murmur and lightly tapped his face. Despite having a smooth face that morning, the guy had the scrapey feel of stubble coming in already. "Geez, you're going to have a full beard taking over by morning."

"I can make it two days…"

The sudden sound of Barnes' worn out grumble had her sitting up straight and grinning. "It lives!"

"Barely." Barnes cracked open an eye and then rubbed at his temples. "Guh…I feel like I got in to a fight with a bull moose and lost. What happened?"

"Lincoln shocked the shit out of you." It was a vague explanation, but the grim understanding in the lines around his eyes and mouth told her it was enough.

"…How many did I hurt?"

"A fair amount. They're pretty pissed at you, I won't lie." Darcy tugged his right hand away from his head and pressed a hot mug of chocolate with whole milk in to it. "Nothing super serious though."

"You mean I didn't kill anyone." Barnes sat up slowly and sipped from the mug.

Darcy shrugged a shoulder. "People around here don't die so easy. They'll get over it quick enough. Here," she pulled up a plate full of sandwiches. "You should eat something."

He crammed one in to his mouth and looked surprised at his own actions. Darcy held back a laugh and took a bite of the one she'd been working on.

Barnes looked around. "Where are we?"

"One of the old drawing rooms. Whatever those are. This is the only small room with a fireplace," she said and dipped her sandwich in to a piping hot bowl of meat and vegetable stew. "Mmf! You have to try this. Wanda whipped it up over the fire in the common room, if you can believe it."

Barnes dunked half a sandwich in to the stew and consumed it silently. Besides the agreeable noises related to the quality of the food she was shoving his way, he stayed silent.

"…Are they keeping me away from everyone else?"

"We agreed that would be a good idea until you woke up," Darcy answered. "You were freaking out hard core before you passed out. Before that though…I think I nearly pissed myself. It was like someone else took over your body."

Barnes averted his eyes toward the fire. Darcy heard him sigh through his nose. "Yeah," he said, moroseness coloring the tone and the drooping of his body. "That's pretty accurate."

"I guess you don't remember anything."

He shook his head. "Not right now. I might later. Memory isn't so reliable for me these days."

"Good thing we've got nothing but time up here, huh?" Darcy punched his shoulder. "Eat. I know you're still hungry. Someone has to eat this because it can't go back in to the fridge, and I'm almost full to bursting."

"The power still out?" he asked.

"Yup. Hence the need for the fireplace." His memory really was touch and go. That definitely made her a little nervous. Darcy's neck was still sore; memory was not going to be an issue for her unless he bashed her head in next time.

Barnes seemed to sense her unease. "What are you doing here, Darcy?" he asked. "With me, specifically, I mean."

"Wanda says it's because I care to the point of being destructive. Apparently she's not wrong." Darcy pushed her uneaten potion of stew towards him. "That and the doc is busy patching people up, including Lincoln, and I just relieved Wanda of her babysitting duties. You should thank her later, by the way. If I weren't for her witchy ways, you would probably still be a scary, silent, rampagey guy."

Darcy wondered what he was really capable of. Judging by the far-off look in his eyes as he demolished the stew, Barnes could do leagues worse than he had done to the poor idiots that tried to take him down. He had no idea what exactly had happened, but there was enough material to bring in the metaphorical dark clouds.

There were a few jokes she could crack. Or maybe she should shut up and let the professional handle this storm. Maybe she was getting in over her head.

 

 

_"You know me!"_

_"NO, I DON'T!"_

_"Bucky…You've known me your whole life. Your name is James. Buchanan. Barnes."_

_"SHUT UP!"_

_"I'm not gonna fight you. You're my friend."_

_"You're_ my mission _."_

_"Then finish it! 'Cause I'm with yah til the end of the line."_

Bucky's mind recoiled from the dream so hard that his body jerked awake. His heart felt like it was in his throat, hammering away, and he choked on it.

"Are you okay?" a soft voice whispered through the darkness.

Bucky twitched away from the inquisitive touch to his shoulder and shook his head. "No. Not okay."

"Bad dream?"

"Something like that." 

_I'm okay. Nothing is burning. No one is falling._

Through the haze of nightmares clawing at his half-awake mind, Bucky saw Darcy sit up from her nest of blankets and scoot closer.

"Here." She pressed something small and plastic in to his hand. "My secret weapon."

He held them close to his face. "Ear buds?"

She stuck another pair into her own ears and held up a matte black iPod. "Trust me. It's my zen mix."

If it kept away the demons, then why not? Bucky put in the ear buds.

Technically speaking, Bucky had more encounters with the past few decades than Steve did. However, the Winter Soldier had merely noted things. Enjoyment and appreciation had never been a mission.

The soft, flowing music was unlike anything Bucky Barnes had ever enjoyed. Technically speaking, he was Bucky Barnes. But if people were the sum of their experiences more than a name or their biology, then he was someone else entirely. He could choose what he liked.

Darcy smiled and laid down close enough that their shoulders were touching. The connection to another solid person and the relaxing roll of the music over his consciousness was an enjoyable experience. The day, and the night, had taken a huge toll on Bucky. Feeling Darcy's small hand slip into his kept him tethered to earth while the music had him floating towards the night sky.

With the space between his ears filled with stars, waves, and steady heartbeats, Bucky was lulled to the edge of the plane where the good dreams grazed. His thumb idly ran over the backs of her fingers. In the higher functioning part of his brain that would never shut off no matter what music or secret weapon anyone had him try, he noticed something odd. Something not quite right.

He stopped the gentle motion and rolled his face towards hers with a frown. Darcy, he was surprised, was already watching him. She grinned, winked, and held the index finger of her free hand to her lips.

"Go to sleep," she whispered and gave his hand a soft squeeze. "I'll be here."

The last string of tension eased. Bucky closed his eyes and dreamed of better things.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I'm not on a schedule, I feel like this is super late. This would have been posted last week if I hadn't had to work some crazy hours.
> 
> Anyway, I think this is my favorite chapter so far. You can listen to Darcy's playlist on my Spotify account: (Outburst.ao3). If you need some chill out music or something to fall asleep to, it's definitely good for that. Thanks for all the love so far! We are far from done. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How do you make a round circle with a square knife? That’s your challenge for the day.” - Bob Ross

"How are you feeling today?"

Bucky watched the doc lean back in her leather office chair and stuff her hands in to the deep pockets of the old, thick wool sweater hugging her frame like an old friend. The bruising on her face was completely gone, and there was no sign of the aches that had made the woman favor her right side the past two days.

"Not as well as you."

Dr. Martel smiled. "On the contrary, you look as physically well as I do."

"One of the rare perks I got. Can't get drunk though, so that brings me back to even."

Bucky caught the unannounced candy she tossed. The sweet silver wrapped projectile rolled around his palm when he relaxed. "Was that positive reinforcement, or are you testing me?"

Dr. Martel hummed around the piece popped into her own mouth. "Why not both? Really, though, how are you doing Barnes? I have concerns."

Bucky entertained the idea of crushing the candy in his metal fist and then thought better. "Someone cracks and takes out half the people in your facility. I'd question your license if you didn't. Still wondering why I'm not locked up, by the way."

"You've been under observation and show no signs of a relapse."

Bucky let out a hoot of disbelieving laughter. "Doc, I'm a walking time bomb. This," he said and circled an index finger at his head. "Ain't going to get any better. Wanda knows, I'm sure she had a good look inside."

"Not as well as you may think. You have quite the mental barrier."

That was no surprise. The way the doc stared at him indicated that it wasn't to her either. Bucky stayed silent and wondered how long he could stay that way, if the doc would break first.

Martel wasn't up for the game, however.

"Barnes, it's very common for those who have survived traumatic events to create such a barrier," she said softly. "What is curious, and worrisome, is that I have never heard of a mind reader being unable to penetrate one by great force until you."

He frowned. "But  Wanda - "

"You let her in. Something retro-triggered you for the smallest moment."

Bucky shook his head. "I don't remember. Actually, I don't want to talk about this at all, if you don't mind."

"I do mind." Something in the tone kept Bucky in the chair. The curtains of Martel's amenable demeanor pulled back the slightest to bare the gleam of Vibranium in her spine. "I'm in a unique position here, Barnes. Your risk assessment is incomplete simply because we do not know the extent of your abilities under the influence of your trauma. The other day gave me only a glimpse."

"So you don't think you can control me?"

"I don't want to control you, Barnes. I want you to control yourself."

Bucky let out a guffaw. "Well that's pretty damn unlikely."

Dr. Martel swiveled her chair from side to side and ruminated over the problem that was Bucky Barnes. "Do you want my help?"

"Counter-question: do you think you can help me?" Bucky asked.

"Absolutely. But I wonder," she said and leaned her elbows on the desk. "Do you understand that help is a two-way street? I don't have an instant cure or a magic wand to wave. You have to be willing to believe that I can help you and that you are capable of healing. That means delving in to the things you don't want to talk about."

Bucky rubbed his face, feeling the scratch of stubble catch and drag on his palm, while his mind ran around in circles. "…I don't know if I can do that."

"I believe you can, Barnes." Dr. Martel leaned back and gazed at him with calm confidence. "You broke your handler's hold; that's no small feat. You have the strength to take the leash back and destroy it."

"Steve was the one - "

"The Captain may have given you the foothold you needed, but you were the one to break through," the doc pointed out. "Support is of the utmost importance, yes, but we cannot fight a demon that solely exists inside of _you_."

An invisible hand took hold of his guts and slowly squeezed his insides. The urge to squirm and grind his teeth and get up and leave and…

"Breathe. You are safe. You will be okay." The doc's firm, quiet mantra was like an anchor. Bucky held on to that shaky, rusty chain for dear life.

After a few moments, the hand eased its grip. The itching feeling to run, to do anything but sit still, was at least tolerable. Bucky wiped the sweat on his forehead away.

"I guess I oughta start taking you seriously," he said with a tired grin.

The doc smiled. "You are not the first, nor the last, to say so."

A small huff of a laugh left him. Bucky shook his head and stared up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling at a loss. "You know, I've got no idea where to even begin. Every time I think about maybe saying something, I just…can't. Talking about it - making it real again - that scares the living shit out of me."

"That small bit is a good start," Dr. Martel said with an approving nod. "If I may make a suggestion?"

"For the love of god, please do."

"Take the day and don't think about it." She chuckled at his reaction to what appeared to be counter-productive advice. "What I mean is to give yourself a break. Then, re-evaluate. Right now, it's a large and powerful thing. It doesn't have to be. Chop it in to smaller pieces. Something may just shake those smaller pieces loose."

Bucky hummed and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't really have anything to lose, I guess. Sure, yeah. Let's give it a whirl, see what happens."

Did he have renewed hope that the doc's suggestion would work? Not really. The hand was still there, squeezing him with every consideration, but there had to be a way to get away from it.

_Breathe. You can do this. Baby steps._

 

There were thirty six text messages and ten voicemail notifications begging for Darcy's attention. She was almost afraid to go past the lock screen to see who they might be from - surely they were mostly from Jane, but the thought of -

_That's a person that's a person fuck movemovemove!_

"WHOA! Holy crap, I am so sorry!" Darcy spun out of the way, her hands thrown in the air during the attempt to avoid the collision with the very solid male spotted from her peripheral vision. One hand came down to her chest to help her heart ride out the adrenaline shot.

"Oh, no you're fine," he said with a smile. "Don't worry about it."

The boy scout face and muscles looked familiar. "I feel like I've seen you around before…" Darcy snapped her fingers when it came to her. "You dropped Barnes off last week."

Man-Jane! That was it. God, she should really give Jane a call…

"Yeah, that was me," he confirmed and held out a hand to introduce himself formally. "I'm Steve."

Darcy returned the handshake. "He's mentioned a Steve a few times. My name's Darcy. Barnes and I are like official-unofficial crazy-house buddies."

The confused look that came over his face was adorable, and to his credit Steve was able to laugh at himself. "Can't say I've heard of that, but it certainly sounds like something Dr. Martel would try. How is that going?"

Darcy shrugged a shoulder. "He's a stubborn dick head. Hence the official-unofficial part. I think I've almost got him worn down though."

Steve had pretty good poker face. Darcy couldn't tell if he was amused or dubious about her weirdo therapy relationship with Barnes.

"He could use some wearing down in the good way," he said.

"Please tell me you're not talking about what I think you're talking about."

Darcy half-turned to see Barnes coming up on them. He'd been looking tired and anxious for the past few days, not that she could blame him (though some residents certainly did), but there was something else creating haggard edges that Barnes covered up with every step. She thought maybe he'd been in to see the doc. Personal sessions always left her feeling a little raw too.

Steve smiled at his friend, though the way his eyes followed every motion and detail was not lost on Darcy's amateur observational skills. "I'll go ahead and say no."

"Good answer."

The two men spent a full two seconds in poignant silence - verbally at least. There was a hell of a conversation in Body Language and Eye Contact going on. Barnes had his usual indifferent mask on, but there were definite cracks ever since The Incident; there was a mix of relief, wariness, and annoyance that Darcy couldn't fathom the reason for. Steve was unabashedly hopeful and sheepish - reminding Darcy why she had equated him to Jane in the first place.

"What are you doing here?" Barnes asked, that annoyance coming through.

"I made an appointment with Dr. Martel. That's usually how things work after leaving."

"You're checking up on me," Barnes stated, point blank.

Darcy elbowed him in the ribs and earned a satisfying grunt and glare. "Your paranoia is showing. Ease up, Bitch Face, or take this to the doc."

Steve's lips pursed with extreme confusion and shock, like he wasn't quite sure his ears were working and someone was suddenly talking in a language incredibly similar to English.

Barnes rolled his eyes at Darcy. She put a hand on her hip and raised her brows, her feet planted on the floor, prepared to give him shit for the rest of his life.

Eventually, he gave in and another point was awarded to Darcy's bullheadedness.

"There's gotta be a tiny closet I can lock you in," Barnes grumbled and motioned Steve towards the kitchen. "Come on. Let's find some food before this one snitches on me."

"You two play nice!" she warned in her best Mom voice and watched them retreat to the kitchen, Barnes' back straight with tension and uncertainty. Curiosity prodded her to follow - surely Steve had a few of the missing puzzle pieces to the mystery picture that was Barnes - but non of that was her business. Maybe Barnes would open up in the future, maybe he wouldn't. She hoped he did. Dude had serious issues.

Her phone began vibrating, giving Darcy a start. Another text message, this one from Jane. Unless Asshat Supreme was still digitally impersonating her.

_DARCY. Please please please call me!_

Darcy's thumbnail worried at the worn right corner of the phone case. Shopping for a new one seemed like an excellent use of her time right at that moment. But she couldn't ignore Jane or Not Jane forever.

_Why not? That's a great idea._

_Because I'm supposed to be an adult._

_Ehhh, but isn't that just a societal construct? Everyone is faking it. Besides, you're supposed to be avoiding stress._

_That's literally impossible._

_You're just not trying hard enough._

The phone case made a faint creak of protest. Darcy eased her grip and took a deep breath. Before Nega-Darcy could open her big fat metaphyscial mouth again, she tapped out a response text.

_How do I know you are you?_

Her words stared back, the black text burning a negative into her eyes that flashed bright whenever she blinked.

"How do I know you are you?"

_This isn't the time to get philosophical._

_Oh my god, would you just shut up for once?_

Nega-Darcy's smug silence was almost worse than the constant stream of doubt.

Jane's ringtone started to go off. Darcy embraced the relief, and then realized the cause of that relief was not having to deal with the insanity of her inner monologue yelling at itself.

"Hi!"

"Darcy! Finally!" Jane's voice brought on a bought of nostalgia for normality. "I'm so sorry about - "

"Don't worry about it," Darcy cut in. "Seriously. I should be saying sorry."

"Wait, why?"

Darcy shrugged, more for her own benefit, and ambled around the hallways of the house with her free arm tucked around and under her chest. "I don't know. Feels like the right thing to say. Things have been weird, and then Daddy Creepiest swipes your phone to stalk me…"

"That's on him to apologize for," Jane said, her voice stern. "I've been thinking up creative ways for him to make it right. With your approval of course."

The idea of Jane rattling off a list of increasingly weird demands inspired a grin, and suddenly Darcy was very glad she had finally texted Jane back. "I'm glad we're friends."

She could hear Jane's matching grin through her words. "Could be worse."

Darcy let out a breath of a laugh. "So much worse. You could have gotten an actual science major for an intern. You would have been dead in a week from malnutrition. Seriously, what did you do before me?"

"I try not to think about it. I have nightmares about drowning in instant ramen and cereal."

"It still baffles me how such a smart person had no idea online grocery delivery was a thing."

"NASA is my homepage, not Google. There's four different diplomas on my wall - I'm supposed to be my own Google," Jane said with false indignance.

Darcy could hear the woman's smile wrapped around the words and wished they were having brunch at the old diner, trading barbs and nonsensical babblings about space and gossip over star charts and pancakes. Erik would be ignoring them and pretending not to be checking out Sally, the middle-aged widow owner, as she made the coffee rounds.

Jane sighed, adding a tinge of comfortable sadness to the conversation, and Darcy wondered if she had been thinking about the good old days too.

"I miss you, Darce."

"Yeah." Darcy's sigh matched Jane's. "Me too, Boss Lady. How long are you strutting your brain around for yet?"

"A while yet. I wish I had you around to help schedule all these things that keep getting thrown at me," Jane said with a snort. "I'd be way more organized."

Darcy smiled at the floor and slid down the wall outside her room. The old, dark wood boards were worn and warm. There was dust and the air was a little musty, but the space felt safe. "True that. I'd like to get back to being your designated control freak. You know, this is kind of a one-eighty since last week, but I think I can see that happening."

"Yeah?" Jane sounded thrilled. "That's great to hear, Darce. Things must be going really well."

Darcy gently scraped at the chipped nail polish on her right thumb. "Yes and no. There's been a lot of weirdness; maybe that's my new normal and I'm getting my groove back. Or my brain is just on an upswing for no reason, I don't know."

"Well, I'm glad you're feeling okay right now." A few pops came through the line and in her mind's eye Darcy could see the woman cracking her knuckles, once, twice, three times.

"What's up?" Darcy asked.

"What do you mean? Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

"You always pop your knuckles three times when there's something big distracting you," Darcy pointed out. "Out with it."

"I do not - "

"Yeah," she countered. "You do."

Jane's sigh this time was wholly different. Resistant, caught out, defeated. "I talked to him the other day. After I was done screaming at him for the phone thing."

Darcy's posture notched up a few degrees. "And?"

"He's a sneaky bastard. I should have known something was up - no one with an ego that big let's someone trash talk them for an hour…"

"There was alcohol involved." Not even a question. Jane was a sucker for free top shelf tequila, especially when she was pissed off and stressed out.

"Oh my god, so much alcohol," Jane admitted in shame. "I'm not even sure what all I said, but I do remember him getting kind of freaked out and leaving pretty quickly after."

Darcy frowned. "That's…weird."

"Super weird. You should have seen the look on his face, Darce. I think he was scared."

Her brows lifted in surprise. "He has three modes, and scared is definitely not one of them. Something big is up." She chewed on the inside of her lip whilst thinking intently on what could possibly cause that effect on Dear Old Dead Beat Dad.

"I don't like it. You really don't remember anything beyond that?"

"I know I was talking about you, which is exactly what he wanted of course," Jane answered. "Sorry about that…"

Darcy waved the infraction away with a jerk of her chin, even though she knew her friend couldn't see. "Don't worry about it."

"Listen," Jane started. "I think he might know where you are. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he waltzed in and demanded to see you."

"Yeah, I've been expecting that. So far no dice, but who knows. Thanks for the heads up anyway."

"Call me if he does," Jane said with the steel of a sword in her voice; Darcy smiled, imagining how she must have flayed the bastard up before he plied her with not so cheap shots. "I'll be on the first flight there."

"For sure, Boss Lady," Darcy agreed. "I know you got my back."

"Good. Speaking of flights, I'm boarding now. If I hang up you're not going to keep ignoring me are you? We're good, right?"

"Good as gold." Darcy smiled again, feeling her anxiousness mellowing out. "I'll talk to you soon. Go on and kick some sciencey ass."

"Yes ma'am!"

Despite the ominous news about her father's behavior, talking things out with Jane had Darcy feeling calm and centered. She pulled her knees up and tucked the phone-wielding arm underneath the chin. In came a slow, deep breath and then out. Yeah. This was nice. In her mind, Darcy mapped out the specs of the feeling and committed them to memory.

 

"What are you really doing here?"

Steve sighed, his head flopping forward with exasperation. "Buck, come on. Zero ulterior motives here."

"Bull. Shit." Bucky methodically sliced up an apple, his eyes boring in to Steve. "You heard about what happened and came running back to check on me."

"I didn't hear about it until I was already halfway here. Even if I was here just for you, what would be wrong with that? You were always there for me, even when I told you I was fine." Steve crossed his arms and stared back at Bucky, the stubborn firm line of his mouth and set jaw making the past vibrate with life. "I wasn't fine."

Bucky could see the scrawny, wheezy kid staring him down. The serum might have bulked him up and war might have given him maturity, but the kid from Brooklyn was the core of the man standing there. Bucky was the first to look away.

"This is different." He ate a silver of apple, glad for the tart taste to match his mood.

Steve shook his head and shrugged, lost. "Why?"

"Because you're not in my head," he snapped. "You think you know me, but you _don't_."

"I don't understand how you can say that."

The hurt was palpable. Bucky didn't know what to do, what he needed to say for Steve to be satisfied. Half the apple was gone and the taste was losing its potency.

"Are you ever not causing trouble?" grumbled a bruised and half-sleep (possibly medicated) Lincoln as he fumbled around the kitchen, looking for something in the cupboards. "Save it for group or get a room. You'll put the food off."

"No one asked for you opinion," Bucky grumbled back.

"That's the great thing about opinions…" Lincoln yawned and scratched the stubble on his chin. "You don't need permission to share them. …What the hell did I come in here for again?"

Sharing a living space was becoming a trial in more ways than one. The top most issue was the urge to strangle people when there wasn't a chance or room to quickly sequester himself away. Bucky was still wondering why he wasn't locked up in the basement; Dr. Martel was either the craziest person in the building or the most reckless.

"You said you would grab me a water," Wanda's voice drawled. The woman herself came in to the kitchen and shooed Lincoln out of her way. She spared a smile for Steve. "Good to see you, Captain."

"You too," Steve returned the greeting. "You're looking well, Wanda."

She shrugged. "Better than some," she said, giving Bucky a pointed look (who promptly glared back). "Your boy here is quite the addition to our happy house."

Lincoln and Bucky snorted in tandem.

Steve fetched a glass and ice for her water, moving around like he knew every inch of the place and felt comfortable between its walls. The ease and peace Steve radiated was like a nail scratching at the scab of something. Jealousy, definitely. He didn't know what the root was.

"So I hear. What do you think?"

Wanda eyed Bucky over the rim of her glass as she sipped. "Needs work. Still… What are you thinking?"

"Is this happening? He's right there. He can hear you," Lincoln stated.

"Either you're pissed off at him or you're not, Lincoln," Wanda shot at the young man. "Stop looking for a fight."

Bucky shrugged a shoulder. "I could use a fight."

Lincoln smirked. A wavering arc of electricity danced across his knuckles. "Great. I owe you a cheap shot."

"No one is fighting anyone." The Captain said. The verbal foot had been put down. It was enough to take the edge off the tempers in the room, but not calm them completely.

Lincoln could not seem to resist one last word to break the silence. "Do you always snuff the fun out of a room?"

"Yes." Bucky drummed up a charming grin from a murky place and tossed the stem and seeds from his apple in to the trash with more force than was necessary. "See, that's Captain America talking. Steve Rodgers, on the other hand, loves a good scrap."

He walked out and made a mental note that he owed Wanda one after seeing her stop Steve from following.

Lincoln managed to stay quiet for a moment, almost sheepishly messing with the bottle cap Wanda had discarded.

"Sooo…Captain America, huh?"

 

Bucky wasn't mad per say…maybe just extremely annoyed. And conflicted. Being around Steve always brought onslaughts of old emotions and slivers of memories that made reality hard to reconcile. Bucky felt an obligation to worry, a call to friendship, and an urge to knock his head in. Having him around for who knew how long was going to be difficult.

Maybe it was best to not let his head take control; like the Doc said, it was okay to not think about what his brain kept pestering him to think about. At least for today. Bucky rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off another headache.

The sound of Darcy's music blasting certainly wasn't going to help. He glowered at the cracked open door and grumbled internally about the woman's carelessness. Knocking before yelling at someone was definitely protocol, but Bucky was already ninety percent done with the day's bullshit. Yet he only managed to yank the door open another four inches before the sight of her made his muscles seize up unexpectedly.

Darcy wasn't doing anything particularly out of the ordinary. Folding one's laundry usually didn't entail much skill or entertainment to warrant fascination. And it wasn't the way the midday sun lit up her bare shoulders and arms with golden light, though that did make a pretty picture in its own way. What made him pause wasn't bare skin so much as bare soul, comfortable in its surroundings and assumingly unobserved, exposed in a way not intended for others.

Darcy wasn't exactly graceful as she swayed and danced to the inordinately loud music pumping out from the speakers scattered around her room. The usual constant attention to her surroundings (alive or inanimate) was traded in favor of horribly embarrassing things such as air guitar and terrible lip syncing. Not to mention her folding methods were unspeakably awful.

But it was…nice to see her in what was clearly her natural state, even if he was stealing a peak. There was envy in his gut. Ghostly images mercilessly teased him, images of dance halls and carefree laughter and dancing like a madman with a woman who didn't care about flashing the tops of her stockings when he swung her around…

His hand ever so slightly pulled the door open further. Funny how watching a person do something so mundane could make him want to -

"What are you doing?"

Bucky close the door softly, cursing himself for violating Darcy's privacy and also for getting caught. The discord was grating.

Steve's eyes flicked from Bucky to the door and back again. His chin lifted as a revelation passed over his face. What that might be, Bucky had no idea, but he was probably going to hear an awful lot about it. Maybe he would get lucky and it would only be a lecture about not peeping on women. There was a distinct feeling that he had been on the receiving end  of such lectures before, but nothing concrete surfaced. Past Bucky apparently hadn't paid much attention to them.

"What?" he asked, ready to head in to another argument.

Steve put his hands up. "Nothing."

Strange. He couldn't remember Steve backing down so easily. Not that that meant a whole lot since his memory was Swiss cheese.

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets. "…Do you want to go hit something?"

He thought about the offer and then nodded. "Yup."

Anything to occupy his mind. Still…

The image of Darcy was a guilty pleasure he was going to tuck safely away for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aloha, bitches! I'm back and ready to roll.
> 
> You know how sometime you're just like, "Uuuugh. I have to do stuff. I know I should do the stuff. Uuuugh." And you enjoy thinking and plotting out the stuff, but actually sitting down to do the stuff sounds completely awful and hard?
> 
> It sucks. Sorry 'bout that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I remember when my Dad told me as a kid, ‘If you want to catch a rabbit, stand behind a tree and make a noise like a carrot. Then when the rabbit comes by you grab him.’ Works pretty good until you try to figure out what kind of noise a carrot makes…” - Bob Ross

“On your left.”

A long, long time ago, crisp morning air had always made Bucky’s lungs ache. Most mornings these days he wished he could trade in his Swiss cheese brain for that simple annoyance. But not today.

There was a smug satisfaction in out-running Steve.

 

Darcy peered through the grey morning light and fog, her hands warmed by the mug of coffee cradled between them. She shook her head and tried not to snerk when Barnes over-took Steve – again – who then threw his arms in the air and shouted at the long-haired menace.

“Boys.”

Then again, if she were as fit as those two, there was no doubt someone’s face would be smooshed in the mud by her purple running shoes.

 

Getting the old heart rate up never failed to clear his mind, and messing with Steve had kicked things up a notch.

“Thanks for not bringing a hail of gunfire this time around,” Bucky remarked as they walked back to the house. “Dodging bullets is a real pain the ass.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve huffed through a rakish grin. “I do what I can.”

There wasn’t much sound to be heard over their labored breathing, and neither were in a hurry to break it. Bucky was enjoying the attempt at normalcy.

Steve stopped and turned towards a dense copse of trees. For a moment, Bucky thought he was just admiring the view of the mountains peeking through the fog.

“So…”

Or not. Something was inbound from that punk blonde head and Bucky’s wariness made his spine straighten up.

Steve knit his hands behind his head and stared off in the distance, his breath coming out in moisture-heavy, barely tangible white puffs. “What do you think of Darcy?”

“What?” The question came so far out of left field that Bucky didn’t even know there had been a ball in play, let alone players on the field and butts in the stands.

“…Is this about yesterday?” he asked. Bucky had hoped they would pretend that never happened. Despite being able to take a hit from someone a thousand times her size, getting blasted in the face for invading her privacy was not high on his bucket list.

“Nah, I figured you would beat yourself up enough on that front,” Steve said and squinted one eye against the brightening sun.

“Don’t really know what your sore spots are either, so I figured she’d be a safe topic. Unless she’s not?”

“No. Why?” Bucky wasn’t sure what he was getting at. “The Doc stuck us together. She’s got a heart louder than her mouth, which is saying something. That’s about all there is.”

“You sure?”

He gave Steve the side eye and re-started the slow walk to the house.

“I’m just saying,” Steve continued after a two-step hop to catch up. “A heart louder than her mouth sounds a lot like someone else I know.”

“I get a lot of flashes of alleys and a small, gangly kid with a flapping fat lip and me bailing him out before his head gets caved in,” Bucky drawled. “I think most of the fights I was in was because of your mouth, not mine.”

Steve shrugged and grinned, a sight that overlapped a hundred memories of a hundred similar conversations. “A big mouth does more than start a fight, Buck.”

“Is this dating advice?” Bucky asked with mild horror. “Is that what this is?”

“Like I said,” Steve continued with an ever-growing grin and waved at the dark-haired woman shaking her head at them from the common room window. “I’m just saying…she’s definitely your type.”

“You’ve been here less than a day and barely talked to the broad,” Bucky argued though he knew it was useless. “Not to mention your own track record is shit. Unless there was a miracle I missed?”

“Yeah, but I like these odds.” Steve laughed at the exasperation on Bucky’s face. “I guess it’s easier to see something when it’s not you.”

Bucky swiped the sweaty hair out of his eyes and back in to a messy knot. “Rodgers, you are a damn fool.”

“She’s definitely looking. I think she likes the hair.”

“Knock it off!”

 

“What are Grumpy and Sunshine up to now?” Wanda, her voice raspy with sleep, asked as she plodded in to the common room straight towards the aromatic coffee in Darcy’s hands.

“Boy stuff, mostly.” Darcy sipped and watched the myriad of faces the two made during the course of their conversation, wondering what Steve could be so entertained and Barnes so miffed about. “Plenty of coffee in the kitchen; you don’t need to get grabby with mine again.”

Wanda grunted, yawned, and watched the men make their way closer. “Interesting.”

Darcy glanced over. “What?”

“That’s what Bucky looks like.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest. No one had mentioned that name since Barnes had gone postal. Darcy gave him a closer once over.

The classic hair-trigger awareness and tension in his shoulders and brow was still there. Nothing much was different in the way he walked or gestured. His eyes were a little softer, a little more focused. Overall, she couldn’t say it was more than a shifting mood.

And then when Steve, ribbing Barnes something awful by the look of things, turned his back to enter the house, Darcy saw the slightest upturn to Barnes’ mouth. That was different. Sure, she had seen him smirk before and maybe even a smile or two.

This, however, had a dash of roguishness and ghostly touch of innocence.

“Interesting,” Darcy echoed.

The man turned his head, as if he were going to glance up at the window, but the muffled holler of Steve caught his attention and pulled him inside. Darcy was left wondering why she had wanted him to look.

“Kind of cute when he’s not trying to kill you.” Wanda ambled to the kitchen, leaving Darcy to her cooling coffee.

“The hair isn’t bad,” she agreed in a murmur and then inhaled quickly, shaking all thoughts of messy man buns and dangerous boyish smiles from her mind in favor of starting the day.

Later in the morning, after breakfast had been demolished in record time, Darcy and Wanda had retreated independently to the library. There was a shelf of non-fiction Darcy had yet to plow through, and Wanda favored falling in to a nap with a book thicker than her arm. The day seemed to be starting quite normal. Darcy hadn’t given a passing thought to the way Wanda twitched and awoke suddenly, chalking it up to a nightmare or something. The next time she looked up from her own book (a surprisingly entertaining and heartbreaking collection of letters and stories about the more daring operations going on during World War II) the library was empty.

Wanda did not show for group that afternoon. Still not a cause for concern – people skipped group all the time. Yet something seemed off.

“Have you seen Wanda around?” she asked Lincoln afterwards.

He shook his head and then looked around. “Not since breakfast. Is something up?”

Darcy frowned. “No. Not that I know of.”

“Doesn’t count for much around here. Check with the Doc,” Lincoln suggested.

Just as Darcy reached Dr. Martel’s office, the door popped open a few inches as if someone was distracted on their way out.

“I know you would do anything to have your brother back,” someone said, the tone low, empathetic, and yet self-assured. “Please, help me keep mine.”

Darcy bolted into an unused storage closet just in time to avoid being seen by whoever had been in Dr. Martel’s office. Avoiding being caught out as an eavesdropper was the good part. The bad part was that the closet wasn’t actually unused. What felt like a thick steel bar came down across her shoulders, pulling her back into something bulky and warm. A hand clamped around her mouth, squelching her shout of surprise and terror.

“It’s me!”

The gruffness to the whisper clued her in to the bulky thing being Barnes. She still elbowed him in the gut (not that it hurt anyone but her (all that running and boxing was definitely working for him).

“You scared me half to death!” she hissed.

“You’re the one dashing into closets!”

“Shut up, I’m trying to listen!” Darcy pressed her ear to the wood and tried to ignore the heavy, near invisible form of Barnes moving silently up beside her. Her hammering heart had to be messing with her ears; no one should have been able to move that quietly while so close. She wasn’t entirely sure how close he was. It was disconcerting.

“If you are absolutely sure,” Dr. Martel said. “Then I cannot object. The shields have their limits, and if he is as motivated as I suspect…”

“He’ll figure it out eventually,” Steve confirmed. “I’ll be careful.”

“If he sees you – “ Wanda started to warn, but Steve cut her off. Darcy could practically hear the charming smile.

“He won’t if you come with me.”

Barnes muffled a choke. Darcy wasn’t sure if it was from a need to laugh or vomit.

“How do you know that I won’t kill him when I see him?” Wanda asked, curiosity mixing with indignance. “No doubt he’s come half-cocked and without authorization, the hypocrite. No one would know.”

“I know you well enough to appreciate that you wouldn’t put me in that position.”

“No?” Wanda sounded amused. “Wait until he opens his mouth.”

“Enough,” Dr. Martel sighed. “There’s no time. Wanda, this may be too much to ask, but I don’t believe that Steve can do this without you.”

“If you need me, I will do it,” Wanda agreed. “More than half the people here are at risk.”

“Good. Contact me immediately if events turn south,” Dr. Martel ordered. “We can hide those at risk with advanced notice. Stay hidden. By no means are you to reveal yourselves without my approval. Is that clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” Steve confirmed, the confidence of one used to giving and taking orders coming out clear.

“Quickly then,” the doctor urged.

Footsteps filled with purpose and urgency filled the hall for a few moments. Darcy started to turn the closet door knob until Barnes stopped her with firm hand on the arm.

“Wait,” he whispered.

“Lincoln!” Dr. Martel called out. “Have you seen Darcy?”

“Uh, yeah. She was looking for Wanda,” he answered with confusion. “I told her to check with you.”

“Really?”

Darcy cursed under her breath and was promptly hissed at to shut up. She tried elbowing him again, but made contact with the door instead, causing a loud, obvious thunk. It was Barnes’ turn to curse.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yes…from the closet, perhaps? Though no one uses it.”

Darcy turned to face Barnes in a panic. She was grateful that he did not have telepathy because she was sure he was being quite creative in coming up with new and horrible names for how screwed they were.

And then an idea popped in her head.

Darcy clutched at his arm and invaded his personal space by forcing it around her waist. “I have an idea!” she whispered frantically.

Barnes, quick study that he was, pressed her up against the door. “This doesn’t mean that I like you.”

“Shut up and pretend like you haven’t been laid in the past decade!”

Despite Darcy’s demand, she was the one to pull him down by his freshly-washed hair and plant her lips on his. Forgiving the need for a little lip scrub and some balm, they were more pliant than she expected. Definitely not unpleasant. Quite nice, actually. Nice enough to warrant the weird, steady rise in body temperature she was currently experiencing. When he touched her neck and brushed his thumb along her jaw, Darcy became fuzzy on where they were and why. Until the door was no longer there to support her.

There was no embarrassing landing on her ass thanks to Barnes being quick enough, but there was a rather awkward and clumsy two-step stumble. Dr. Martel and Lincoln stared at them in shock.

“I did not see this coming,” Lincoln mused aloud.

“Ever hear of knocking?” Darcy said, adopting no small amount of peevishness.

“It’s a closet!”

Barnes shrugged it off. “What did you think we were, a couple of raccoons or something?”

“Inappropriateness aside,” Dr. Martel drawled with amusement. “Darcy, may I speak with you for a moment?”

She straightened her shirt and smiled as if nothing was amiss. “Yeah, sure.”

The men were left to their own devices in the hall. Dr. Martel leaned her backside against her desk and drummed her nails against the scuffed and dilapidated top. “May I ask a favor of you, Darcy?”

“Of course. Wait, what kind of favor?”

“I thought it possibly tedious, but now I am not sure,” she answered with a grin. “I would like for you to keep Barnes occupied.”

“Okay, but why?” Darcy asked, wary.

“He and Steve are very close,” the Doc said. “Currently, Steve is taking point on a sensitive project which Barnes may find objectionable.”

“Is it objectionable?”

“That is a question with no clear answer,” she said with a hum of worry. “I can only confirm that it is necessary.”

A little sketchy, but Darcy had no reason or feeling to justify not trusting the woman. She had taken care of them all with grace and empathy, even when they were a danger to others or themselves.

“Yeah, I can do that,” Darcy confirmed. “For how long? I won’t be able to distract him forever.”

“That will not be an issue,” Dr. Martel said. “Fetch him for me and make yourself easy to find.”

Cryptic. Kind of fun though. There was definitely something going on, and having a part in it was better than being completely in the dark.

“I’ll be in the library.”

 

“Something is going on.”

Dr. Martel loosely laced her fingers in front of her and regarded Bucky’s accusation with her usual air of calm.

“There is. That is not why I asked Darcy to send you in.”

Bucky crossed his arms, ready for a stubbornness show down. “You don’t want me to know.”

“I don’t want you to chase after Steve. I need you here.”

Something else felt off. Bucky tilted his head a few degrees and tried to suss out any tells. The damn woman didn’t have any, unfortunately.

“Why?”

“You are the best person to keep Darcy distracted until we can better assess what needs to happen.”

“What does Darcy have to do with anything? She’s a civilian.”

“Her status as a civilian is not in question,” Dr. Martel said. “I am not at liberty to say who or what is in relation to Darcy, merely that she requires discreet observation.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Are you giving me an order?”

“Oh no,” she said with a light head shake. “I am fully prepared to bargain or beg.”

“What could you possibly offer me?” he responded with a bemused laugh.

“A favor in return,” Dr. Martel supplied, smiling. “To be cashed in when convenient for you. That is usually the best option in these situations, is it not?”

“When I know what the person is capable of.” Bucky decided to push her a little. “I say no. What now?”

Dr. Martel gave him a blasé look. “That’s a poor attempt at a test. If you do refuse, there’s nothing I can do beyond be disappointed and move on to the next best option. I would feel better knowing you were there; if the situation arises where we need to move Darcy, you are the most adept at disappearing.”

Bucky sat up straight. “Why the hell would you need that?”

“Because Darcy is the least adept.”

The answer was smooth and fit in to the narrative. Yet there was an edge that wasn’t quite sanded down flush.

“You’ve got a lot of moving parts,” he reflected aloud. “I’m not sure I want to be a cog in that machine. Can’t say that I’m not already though.

Dr. Martel smiled again. “Do you trust Captain Rodgers’ judgement?”

Bucky had an easy counter to that low blow, one with more at stake than Bucky’s pride. “Do you trust me not to lose my head again?”

“I have to trust that you both will do your best to not let that happen.”

“That won’t be enough.”

“You have legs,” the Doc said, the casual calm replaced by something subtle, something old and commanding. “Run if you have to. Run and have faith that we will find you."

 

Darcy stole Wanda's window spot and settled in with her book. While the stories were interesting enough, she found that the page turns were greater than the amount of information she was retaining. So much had happened in so little time! There was a lot of funny business going on and her curiosity was practically killing her.

_Chill out, Darcy,_ she chided herself. _You've got a job to do. How the hell are you going to keep Barnes occupied for - apparently - an indeterminate amount of time?_

She wondered whether Lincoln and Dr. Martel had bought the closet theater or not. And then her inner pervert went directly to whether those “activities” qualified as a valid method of distraction.

_Well, maybe._

_NO. It was a decent kiss at best._

_Room to improve. Give him a chance to show off and what not._

_Shut the fuck up, Darcy!_

"Auuuugh!" She let the book flop on to her face and let out another loud sigh of mental anguish. It was dark underneath the book, but the afternoon was sunny enough to sneak under the edges and shed some light on the pages. A photo and words made blurry by her glasses smooshing up against face and eyelashes came in and out of focus. Something about howling and captains.

Maybe she would ditch the treadmill and persuade him to show her the best running paths around the estate. That was a relatively safe idea, right? Barnes didn’t seem like the board game type. Poker, maybe? Nah, she was crap at poker.

Darcy pulled the book off her face and sat up. Her stomach gurgled long and loud. Maybe it was time for Mission: Delicious Pizza Round Two.

I wonder what they’re talking about? she thought, her fingers running absentmindedly over the thick paper of the book in her lap. It seemed like forever since she had relayed the doctor’s request to Barnes. The antique clock on the wall said an hour had gone by.

When her stomach gurgled again, Darcy ignored it and tried refocusing her attention from thoughts of the perfect cheese consistency to the book. Hopefully there would be something exciting enough to –

_…wait. What?_

“You know, I think there’s some kids books on the shelf over there if that one is too hard for you,” he said.

Barnes appeared not only in her hands, but also in the doorway. One was cocky and full of laughter while the other was cagey and full of jagged edges. Reconciling the two was making her brain stutter. This was a fluke. The man in the photograph was just a relative. Had to be.

Yes, that was it.

…Except for the unmistakable, smiling face of Steve right next to him in the photo.

When he came close, Darcy automatically hugged the book to her chest to hide the pages. Barnes raised a brow and then smirked.

“Darcy Lewis, what are you looking at?”

The implication kick-started a reboot and made her scowl. “You got me. Antiquated forms of pornography really get me going. Totally my fetish.”

Barnes took up the comfortable seat she had previously occupied that morning before all the weirdness happened. There was nothing indicating what was running through his mind or what his discussion with Dr. Martel had been about. She wondered if the man in the picture would be easier to read.

Assuming they were the same person.

Which was crazy.

Right?

“You’re staring.”

Darcy pulled her knees up and pretended to read the book. “Am not.”

He hummed and got up to investigate the shelves. Darcy watched his back and the way he moved, tried to compare the body language to the picture. No, it couldn’t be…

“You’re staring again.”

“How – ?!” She threw her hands in the air and internally begged whatever gods were listening to help her out with the madness filling her life.

Where was Thor’s bull-headed bluntness when she needed it?

“What are you doing in here?” she finally asking, knowing full well the doctor had sent him.

Barnes pulled down a book from the biographies section and opened it to a random page in the middle. “I’ve never really spent time in here.”

“Exactly my point.”

“Sorry, didn’t know this was your private domicile,” Barnes tossed over his shoulder.

God, from that angle…

Darcy thought back to the morning when she caught that flash of an uncharacteristic smile. Reading the caption under the photograph had her pulse jumping.

_Captain Steve Rogers and Sgt. James Buchanen “Bucky” Barnes of the 107 th ._

“That must be a hell of a story,” Barnes said as he managed to find what had to be the oldest book in the library. “You look spooked.”

“That is definitely an accurate description. So! How bad did the Doc chew you out for the closet debacle?”

Barnes shrugged. “I’ve heard worse.”

_Seriously? This man is unflappable._

When she failed to return a quip, Barnes turned to look at her with guarded concern. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, nothing…” Darcy shrugged him off. “One question: what’s Steve’s last name?”

Oh! There was something, a teeny tiny line between the brows.

“Rodgers. Why?”

“Just wondering.” She cleared her throat in hopes of toning down the rising crazy. “You guys have known each other a long time then?”

Judging by the full attention he was paying her, Barnes wasn’t really buying the act. “Since we were kids. We grew up in the same neighborhood.”

“How old are you?”

A point blank question, but not an unreasonable or totally suspicious one. Yet Barnes merely stared at her, the lines of his mouth pulled tight.

“Old enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“What’s it matter?”

“How old are you, _Bucky_?” Darcy demanded.

She should have felt a sense of victory when his mouth parted in surprise. Her limbs buzzed with an excess of adrenaline. The world felt upside down. Barnes - Bucky - regarded her with a cool stare, his guard up now.

"That's not me."

"Really?" Darcy moistened her dry lips and held out the book, pages splayed up, for him to see. "James Buchanen 'Bucky' Barnes. Wanda pulled Bucky out of your head. This is your face. This is your name. Right next your buddy, Steve Rodgers."

Bucky kept his gaze on her. "That's just a story."

"It's from the non-fiction section!"

His guffaw was dry. "I got news for you: books aren't any better than believing what's on the internet."

Darcy checked the end of the section. "The sources are cited. The Smithsonian seems like a legit source to me."

His arms came up and then fell in a helpless motion laced with aggravation. "What do you want me to say, Darcy?"

"I want to know who you are!"

Bucky crossed his arms. The motion made him look three times her size, and weird homicidal fugue state or not he could probably crush her with little effort.

"That makes two of us."

Darcy leaned over her knees, her eyes flitting from the shelves to Bucky to the floor and back again. All the things she believed about him ran through her mind. Was it all a cover?

_But he sounds so…lost._

 

Bucky wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of there. The need to leave and the need to keep his word to the Doc fought like two starving dogs, using his head as the ring and his body as the receptacle for the stress and pain of resisting. His heart was beating like mad.

Sit. It's okay to sit. You can do that.

Bucky sank slow in to the armchair across from Darcy's spot in the window.

"I haven't lied to you." He didn't know why he needed to say that, but there it was. Maybe it was best if his mouth went on autopilot? Whether or not Darcy would listen was up to her.

"I don't know who I'm supposed to be," Bucky said and rubbed the thinning leather on his glove. "My head isn't…right. There's gaps. When I talk about the past it feels like I'm retelling a dream."

She focused on her feet and stayed quiet. Why she cared so much about who he was he didn't know - no, that was a lie. Darcy was the sort to care too much; friend, enemy, didn't matter. Bucky knew Darcy well enough to know that for some reason she had latched on to him. She had carved out a space for him and stuffed him inside. Now, he was spilling outside of that space in a pretty spectacular way.

An anxious laugh bubbled out past his lips and he looked away. "Sometimes I wonder if they stole someone else's memories and put them in my head. And then I see that damn picture," he said, gesturing carelessly at the book. "That's my face, but it feels wrong. Bucky fell off a damn train in to a ravine and died. All those things happened to someone else."

He felt numb now and rooted in place; his body was heavy. Bucky watched Darcy pull on a loose thread from the sleeve of her sweater.

"It does feel wrong," she said, quiet and contemplative. "You're not Bucky to me. I don't know who that person in the book is."

Bucky dropped a hand from where it had been resting against his temple. "Who am I?"

She shrugged again. "Just…you. Obviously I didn't know a whole lot about you before, but you're not blank. You know what I mean?" Darcy asked and finally looked at him. "You only sit still when you don't want to be noticed. You cook - jury is still out on how good or crap you are. Sometimes I hear you pacing in your room in the middle of the night when I can't sleep. You're grumpy and argumentative, but not any more than anyone else here. Everything rolls all in to this…feeling, I guess, that is just you. I don' know that it really needs a name."

Darcy absently entwined a hand in her messy locks as the wheels and cogs turned. "You've got this big, scary thing inside you that I don't understand, but I definitely know there's a bigger part of you that's just as strong."

Bucky bit down on his lip, trying to physically pull back the bitterness in his smile, but failed. "You think so?"

"Yeah, I do. I think you've got a pretty big heart," she said. "It's just wrapped up in self-doubt most of the time. You've got a lot of shit to work through."

That managed to push a soft laugh out of him. "Welcome to the club, right?"

Darcy's smile, though soft, was genuine. "We should make t-shirts."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter came out of no where. This was not in the plan! These guys just do what they want. We can roll with it though, we're in a good spot.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t kill all your dark areas - you need them to show the light. ... Put light against light - you have nothing. Put dark against dark - you have nothing. It’s the contrast of light and dark that each give the other one meaning.” - Bob Ross

"How old are you, really?"

Bucky motioned to the book laying face down near her feet on the window seat. "C'mon. All the boring stuff is in there. If you're going to elbow your way in to my personal life, you can do better than that."

"Ooh." Darcy smirked and draped her arms over her knees to lean forward. "That sounds like a fun challenge."

That did not help the anxious voice yelling _That's a terrible idea!_ in his head. The book sitting in his own lap felt like a poor prop to hide behind, but there wasn't much else to use in a library; Darcy seemed keen to stay holed up right where she was, and Bucky was not going to make his mission any more difficult by letting the wily woman out of his sight. He flipped a page and feigned boredom.

"How long has it been since you last got laid?"

He paused and then flipped another page. "Forty-four. I think."

Darcy's shoulders slumped. From the corner of his eye, she looked a lot like a deflated bounce house: sad and droopy like all the fun had leaked away.

"How are we supposed to play twenty questions if you can't be sure of your own answers?"

Bucky smiled and swept his arm across the room in a grand gesture. "Welcome to my life, doll face."

Darcy pulled a face of disgust. "Ugh, don't call me that. Next you'll be calling me toots and gawking at my 'gams'."

He scratched at the corner of his mouth to hide the wide grin taking over. "Is it worth trying to defend myself here, or should I go with no comment?"

She shrugged and unsuccessfully flicked a piece of gray lint at him. "I'm over it. How was...you know?"

"How was what?"

"The sex," she clarified and clearly enjoyed what his face looked like when she managed to surprise him. She was good at getting that reaction, he realized. Wily woman indeed.

"Was she good?" Darcy went on and then wrinkled her nose. "…Yikes, I just realized I'm basically asking about the sexual prowess of someone's grandma."

"Hey!"

"Assuming it was a woman. Was it a man?? I could totally see you making use of a dark corner with - "

"Please god, I know this is counter-productive, but please take the memory of the last five minutes away and make her stop. Amen."

 "Aw, come on. No judgement here!"

Bucky brandished a finger at her. "Shut up or I start calling you Legs for the remainder of our acquaintance."

Darcy pursed her lips and groaned. "Fine. You're the one who told me to up the ante, but that's cool…"

"You're not even following the rules of the game, but - " Bucky mimicked her higher voice. "That's cool."

"Fine! Ask me a question."

"When was the last time _you_ got laid?"

Ah, yes, he understood the satisfaction now. The moment of mind-blanking shock was hilarious when it wasn't happening to you. Bucky relaxed in his seat and let his silent gloating permeate the room.

"Turn about is fair play, Asshole."

Darcy deflated a little again, the air escaping her in a huff that teased the unruly hair in her face. "A while, okay?" she answered, finally. "At least a year. Probably more like two. Nothing real memorable."

"Somehow that's more depressing."

"No way, you've had like the longest dry spell in the history of humanity."

"The decades I was frozen don't count." He paused. "And I really doubt my handlers allowed any intimate contact when I wasn't on ice. That's a hell of a lot different than not being able or wanting to pick up a one night stand for a few years."

Darcy's eyes were wide behind her glasses and a hand came up to be a resting point for her head. "Fuck. You're right. You've apparently gone through hell, and I'm still worse off in a category. I'm not sure if I should feel impressed with myself, depressed to a whole new level, or follow the need to wrap you in a blanket and sing a lullaby."

Bucky ran the flesh hand over his face and laughed. "You are the most ridiculous person I have probably ever met."

"This does not help my dilemma."

A low boom interrupted the day, caused by god knew what in the distance, and made the house tremble. Bucky ignored it, as did Darcy beyond a baleful glance out the window at the brumous day. If the Queen of Gab wasn't going to mention it, neither was he.

"I hope they're okay."

Or maybe not. Bucky returned her steady gaze, unsure if she was truly worried or if he was being tested. Then again, did he really have a reason to be paranoid about Darcy? If he were honest with himself, Bucky could find a dozen reasons for either side of the argument. But which of them were his own mind seeing things that weren't actually there?

He rubbed his face again.

"Steve is harder to kill than I am, and he trusts Wanda enough to watch his back. I'd say they're just fine."

She picked at the skin on her lower lip and worried at the small cut the nervous action gave her. The pulling and prodding attention given to the wound turned her mouth red and inflamed. Bucky pressed his own lips together and looked anywhere but at her; a phantom cut throbbed, empathetic in its stinging pain. A faint memory of frozen, misty nights and perma-chapped and cracked lips crept around the edges of the room.

"Yeah," she agreed with a nod and a cavalier shrug. "You're right."

"Something on your mind…?" he chanced to ask. Was it bad to hope she would talk even if he used her as a distraction for his own benefit? Focusing on something else could pull him out of reach of those dark trenches.

"Always." Darcy worried her lip again, swiping away a bead of blood. "It's pretty tough to turn my mind off."

The only times that Bucky dealt with his mind running overtime - as opposed to tempting his attention with morsels of better times or attacking with forgotten screams - was when something was overwhelming and taking him towards a panic attack (according to the Doc). Mostly he was able to deal with one thing at a time. He couldn't imagine always having to deal with constant hullabaloo in his head.

"That sounds less than ideal."

"Yeah…I tried meditation, but I literally cannot turn it off by myself. Running and music help. Otherwise I'm slave to the pharmacy." Darcy slid a hand in to her dark hair and leaned on it. "What about you?"

"Me? I don't know." He shrugged in the face of her dubious look. "My body doesn't need as much sleep as it needed before…everything. I spend most of the night listening."

Darcy's brows drew together. "Listening?"

"There were quiet times between missions. Besides cryo or training, I'd be stuck in a box or the maintenance bay. What's a weapon to do when there's no orders to kill anything?" Bucky asked with a light, humorless laugh. "The Soldier's MO is focus and analytics, so I got pretty good at listening to my surroundings."

Bucky ran his flesh-and-bone thumb over the spine of the book resting face-down on his thigh. Talking about these things was difficult, but for some reason talking to Darcy was less difficult to a degree. Perhaps because they were equally trying to distract one another. That's what he would tell himself.

"I can hear pretty damn well and far," he said and grinned a little at Darcy's snort of agreement. "Most of the time I have to tune a lot of things out. At night, everything is muted and soft. Little things are easier to pick out, one by one. Like the sound of cotton versus wool socks on the hard wood floors, or how far away the resident owl is from its nest in the forest line."

"So you just…lay down with your eyes closed and listen to the different ways people piss in the middle of the night?"

Bucky's eye roll was accompanied by a huff of laughter. "That's about the least interesting thing that goes on."

Interest and mischief hovered at the edges of her smile. Her undivided attention was distracting. "Oh yeah? I've got a few bets riding on who is sleeping with who; how'd you like to make a quick fifty?"

"Sure, if you tell me why you play the same play list over and over every night." Bucky smirked when a light flush of pink colored her cheeks. "Also, did you know that you fall asleep at the same song around the 3 AM mark for nearly exactly two hours?"

"All right, all right! I get the message." The mischievous smile was back quickly. "And stop perving on me."

"But you sound so adorable when you sigh in your sleep - ah! Hey now!" Bucky caught the gaudy throw pillow that Darcy had decided to…well, throw at him. He laughed a little more when she couldn't quite smother her smile. Until it faded that is.

"You know," she said, looking down and smoothing her hands over the frills on another pillow. "I don't understand what was done to you beyond my own assumptions, and I know it's worthless to say it, but I'm sorry that you were made to think you're just a weapon. You're more than that."

Bucky let out a long sigh and leaned his head backwards until he was looking at the cobwebs clinging to the electric candles of the small crystal chandelier. "I don't know how to respond to that. Not even when Steve says it."

"That's okay." He could hear Darcy rubbing her scalp through the thick mass of her hair, and then her fingers getting stuck on a knot. "Just let it be."

"Mm." Bucky closed his eyes and let his head rest on the back of the couch. "I can do that."

 

_There was nothing quite like witnessing the Earth being saved. Except for witnessing the entire universe being saved, as far as she could comprehend that. The subtle difference was that one had puppies and the other adrenaline-fueled kissing - the cool factor was pretty evenly matched._

_And in the aftermath, everyone was so happy! Jane and Thor, Erik, Ian and her, they were all electrified with the magnitude of the victory. Darcy was considering grabbed Ian by the neck again, or twirling around and dancing - hey, that last bit sounded good._

_"I feel like we need to have a massive dance party or something!" Darcy hollered and threw her arms out wide, her body following her twirl. "What's more awesome and in you’re your face than partying while half of the massive spaceship of the alien elf you rocked is in another world?"_

_"I'm pretty new to all of…this," Ian said and motioned at the awesome display of battle surrounding them. "But I definitely agree with Darcy."_

_Darcy smirked. "You're biased now, but I'll take the vote of confidence, sugar."_

_"I think I've had enough excitement to last me more than a lifetime." Erik's relieved and familiar chortle spurred Darcy into giggles._

_"Come on, old man, I thought you had legit Viking blood in you! Where's the chest-thumping, triumphant spirit?"_

_"Darcy speaks true, Erik!" Thor agreed and picked Jane up to spin them around and around. "The fire of victory lifts the weariest of men to celebration!"_

_Jane's overwhelmed laughter echoed across the abandoned mall. Seeing them, together, covered in dust and dirt yet exuberant and happy, was the cherry on the sundae. They deserved this, Darcy thought._

_"Yes!" Darcy exclaimed and pumped both fists in to the air. "I need a picture of this, like, right now."_

_"Darcy - "_

_"Don't give me that look I know you're giving me, Erik," she warned, waving a finger in his general direction while searching through the many pockets on her person for the phone she was really hoping hadn't fallen out and gotten lost. Especially since it could potentially be on another world. There was no way her data plan covered that, and she was pretty sure she left the GPS on._

_"Ian, have you seen my phone? Whatever. Do you still have yours?"_

_"Darcy, you really shouldn't. - "_

_"You're not trying to get out of this most epic of selfies are you?" Darcy chided and then paused at the dubious look on the older man's face. "What? Is my hair doing weird things again?"_

_"I don't think we should be lingering," he replied and looked about with nervous glances. "SHIELD is probably on their way, to say nothing of the structural damage here."_

_"As much as I hate to put any kind of damper on this," Jane started and rolled her eyes with fond exasperation at Darcy's drawn out moan of betrayal. "Erik has a point. It's not safe here. What do you say we find the nearest pub. Or pizza. I think I could eat a pie the size of a pony."_

_"That is something I would be most interested in witnessing," Thor said with a hearty laugh and his usual big, goofy grin. "Do they have shawarma in Greenwich?"_

_"All right fine," Darcy acquiesced and grabbed her jittery intern by the arm, pulling him along with her. "Field trip! Field trip!"_

_Everything was well and fine. The day was bright and victorious as their troupe began to take their leave. Darcy could smell the smoke giving way to warm earth and grass unmarred by the battle._

_If only the buildings had been so lucky._

_The dream always became fuzzy here; no matter how hard she tried or how many times Jane told her what happened, Darcy could not remember Ian shoving her away or the words her friends screamed. There was simply a burst of pain, the abrupt shift from standing to on the ground, the huge pressure pinning her there, and the air saturated in the stench of blood._

 

In books, the business of being startled awake was a simple affair. A prod or concerned voice was enough to bring one out of the depths of dreams and nightmares alike. After the initial shock wore off, the business was done and forgotten. Darcy couldn't recall ever reading about the pain that sudden shot of adrenaline to the heart could be, or the itchy, static-like aftershocks through the rest of the body.

There was little Darcy could hear over the noisy thudding of her heart against the cage of her sternum and ribs. A haze of confusion and clinging cobwebs of fear made understanding why exactly Barnes, Wanda, and _That_ Steve Freaking-Rogers were staring at her with concern and no small amount of wariness supremely difficult. There was, however, a thread connecting her to reality. The bones grinding against one another under the pinched skin was real enough. She held on, tighter, feeling the tendons strain.

_What would happen if I -_

"Darcy!"

The sliver of panic - or was it pain - in Barnes' voice sliced through the cobwebs. Darcy let go of the wrist - _his_ wrist - instantly. Sudden clarity did not help the hammering of her heart to slow. Quite the opposite; the disgust for herself pressed down on her chest like the broken slab of marble that had pinned her down. The claustrophobia was real. Their faces, coming ever closer, were too much like Thor, Erik, and Jane clamoring around, trying to help when it was already too late.

"I'm sorry," Darcy forced out past the crushing weight. She left them in the library, somehow ending up downstairs in the gym without the lights on.

Navigating around the equipment was easy. How many times a week - even per day - did she run to this place? How long  had she been in self-imposed exile and running on her own hamster wheel like that would somehow make it better?

_Sssh, calm down. Okay._ Darcy tangled both hands in her hair and tilted her head back to breathe deep, in and out. _You're just having an off day. It's fine. It's normal. Happens to everyone._

Her breath and body wouldn't cooperate. She felt like a school of fish, made of hundreds of living and writhing creatures, twisting this way and that in hope of the predator in the shadowy ocean (so much bigger than herself) would be fooled and give up. The only problem was that the predator was really the worst parts of herself that would never tire or give up. The only thing to eat was the innocent little fish, one by one, until there would be nothing left.

The jitters and racing mind gave way to blind anger. Darcy let out a strangled cry of rage and unleashed everything on the nearest object: a literal punching bag.

_This isn't fair! I don't want to be like this!_ Her mind screamed while her fists landed unsatisfying blows to the bag - the material was harder than expected and made her joints ache. She wasn't skilled or strong enough to make the ceiling chain rattle or do more than jostle the bag.

Not having an effect on something made to be hit was worse than simply being weak, it meant she practically didn't exist.

_I'm a lump of matter that can't go backwards, or forwards,_ she thought, punctuating her thoughts with more ineffective punches, but the hot catch-and-drag of her knuckles being skinned was something at least. _I'll never really get better._

"You really ought to tape up your hands before doing that."

The gruff voice momentarily jolted Darcy out of her downward spiral. He sounded close, but she could barely see the blacker shape of the bag in front of her, let alone the rest of the room.

_Fish in the ocean…_

"You ought to let people wallow in their pity like a decent person." God, she hated how watery and catty she sounded.

"Can't do that. See, someone insisted I be a part of this buddy system thing and she's super naggy, right?" Barnes voice moved, but that was all she could tell. "She'd never let me hear the end of it. Plus, I'm the furthest from decent you can get in this place. Or any place for that matter."

Darcy touched the worn, plastic-like fabric of the bag, ran her nails down to hear the rasp, and then pushed. The chain creaked on the up-swing. It didn't come back.

"Has anyone ever told you how creepy you are?"

His sunny murmur brought an image of the half-grin soaked in smugness that scratched at her exposed nerves. "Not that I remember."

"Oh, fuck you."

The chain creaked again and Darcy quickly backed up. The bag bumped her thigh.

"Your instincts aren't half bad, but your reflexes need work." Barnes and his musings moved around her.

"Not all of us here have super spy training." Darcy's eyes flitted from one dark shape to another; sight was useless, and Barnes was preternaturally quiet in a very unnerving way.

"Does that bother you?"

"A lot of things bother me," she snapped and swished her arm in front of her like a proper loon, fishing for anything solid that could ground her to the earth. "Could you stop with the monster in the dark routine? I can freak myself out well enough without your help."

She felt something, maybe a shoulder or an elbow, though it was cooler and harder than skin and bone. The pads of her fingertips swiped down, feeling ridges and…plates shift as he moved. Huh. Not _quite_ what she had suspected.

A warm, real hand took up the one of hers that had bruised it. That memory made her suppress a flinch; she had never wanted to hurt anyone again.

"This is impressive work. I wouldn't have figured it out if you hadn't squeezed the living hell out of me."

Barnes prodded her wrist joint with a thumb and hummed. "And then I remembered," he said and gently explored the planes of her palm and the knobs of her knuckles. "You gave me a hell of a gut punch with this."

"And almost broke your arm," she pointed out.

"Nah, you'd need more than this to really hurt me." His flippant tone was pretty convincing; Darcy wasn't sure if this was part of the new truth that was Bucky Barnes or just another deflection.

So she asked, "What would I need?"

The exploration stopped for a breath of time. Darcy listened to the darkness, tried to pick out things like he had described in the library, and entertained the thought that she could hear the lanky strands of hair brush against his scruff as Barnes shook his head.

"I don't want to know."

That was easy to believe. She wanted to bust out a joke, something like, _I guess you're safe around the world's weakest cyborg_ , but it seemed like a crass thing to do. The darkness had changed; she wasn't swimming alone anymore. Maybe together they could fend off the worst parts of themselves better than they could separately.

When he stumbled across the hairline scar on the inside of her elbow, she was reminded that she had briefly met Barnes' worst self, but he had yet to truly see Darcy's.

Cool touch replaced warm and she couldn't help the darkly amused grin. "Not many people have picked up on that."

"This wasn't a defensive wound," he murmured, his voice as analytical as the touch ghosting over the scar. "Thin, sharp blade, probably a surgical tool."

"And here I thought I had the top of the line sensory gear," Darcy mused aloud and swallowed the tremors. "What else can you tell?"

A thumb moved up and down, pressing gently above and below an invisible line. She felt the truth of Darcy Lewis click in his mind when metal eased around the elbow bend and held synthetic.

"You didn't want it."

Darcy molded her palm and fingers over his inner forearm, passively acknowledging the bursts of information the micro-sensors fed to her brain, and returned the firm, reassuring pressure. "Don't sugar coat it."

Barnes' voice was thick. "You tried to cut it off."

Hearing the emotions in his voice was enough to put a lump in her throat -  she had never felt so naked with her clothes on - but feeling him hold tighter instead of pushing away, knowing something neither could speak of was resonating deeply with another human being…

"Yeah." Her whisper was pitched high in the throat, above the lump, and her jerky nodding made salty drops fall with tiny splats on her collar bone. "Yeah. I did."

Having seen only a few washes in its lifetime, the cotton of his shirt was still scratchy against her forehead. Underneath the faint smell of factory and laundry soap, Barnes smelled like fireplace ash and cedar wood from the forest. Combined with the solid anchor of his body, the wave was easier to ride out.

"I'm sorry." Barnes' quiet babbling was as shaky as it was insistent. "I'm sorry. You're right, it's worthless. I don't have better words."

She tightened her grip on his arm and pulled once, sharply, to stop him when he wouldn't shut up. "This is better." Darcy pulled again. "This is enough."

He didn't have to say that he understood or that he didn't blame her. Sometimes the nature of things were best communicated without words.

"This is a good place to let it be," Barnes agreed, his free hand warm against her back. "Are you okay?"

Darcy exhaled, the breath coming out slow and long and taking the bad edge with it. "The panic is gone. I'll be fine after the world's longest shower and eating the most calorie-dense and nutritionless thing I can find in the kitchen."

"I think I might steal that idea."

Darcy's laugh caught on her inflamed sinuses and made her sound like she had a head cold. "If you scavenge for the both of us, I can find something mindless on the TV…"

"Deal," Barnes agreed and then paused. "Are you ready to get out of here?"

She hesitated and then shook her head. "Just a few more minutes?"

"Sure."

Just a few more minutes, swimming together. The darkness wasn't so bad like this - less like hiding in it and more like being part of the ebb and flow.

"Barnes?"

"Mm?"

"Will you teach me how to hit the bag? Not now, I mean. Later?"

His nod brushed a few of the unruly locks her hair. "Absolutely."

The sound of that half-grin in his voice wasn't quite so infuriating this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly, but surely, folks.
> 
> This one was a little different - a little sappy, but not too sappy I hope. I did enjoy the setting in that last bit. :) Just a fun little challenge/experiment. Sometimes it's easier to let things out in the dark, yes?
> 
> By the way, thanks to all you guys for sharing your great insights, speculations, and compliments so far! Cheers to you and this interesting adventure we're taking together.


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